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the life of 
james McNeill whistler 


Sixth and Revised Edition 



In the .(Esthetic Eighties In the Fighting Nineties 


Large Crown 8vo, 16 illustrations. 



Small 12 mo. Frontpiece 


36 Plates. Octavo. 


Introduction by H. G. Wells. 51 Plates. Octavo. 


33 Plates. Octavo. 


40 Plates. Octavo. 


28 Plates. Octavo. 


Illustrated. Octavo. 



Quarto, 714 x 10 ins. xiv + 552 pages. 





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E. R. & J. PEN NELL 



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This book needs no preface or apology or explanation. Each will 
be found in it. It is the story of the life Whistler lived with us 
during the three years after he asked us to write it, and the story 
he told us of the sixty-six previous years of his troubled, triumphal 
career — the foundation upon which the biography was built up. 
But in a biography the intimate tone of a journal is not appropriate 
and only certain portions could be used. We have had both pleas- 
ure and pain in recording what he gave us and also what we learned 
of him from others. For, when we were writing the Authorized 
Life, we received aid and assistance from every one except his wife's 
family who had nothing they could have given us save the docu- 
ments and letters they may possess, if they preserved them. Mr. 
Freer was the other exception. Now, however, Mr. Lodge, Curator 
of the Freer Collection, has granted us the permissions we have 
asked and, with — we hope — the early opening of that Gallery, a 
large amount of information about Whistler, as well as many of his 
important works, will be available. . 

Whistler's fame has vastly increased, the commercial value of his 
work — now the artistic standard — has also vastly increased, 
and we have done what we could to increase the world's knowledge 
of Whistler as we knew him. Miss Philip has given her interpre- 
tation of him and his wishes. When his Society proposed to honour 
his memory by a Memorial Exhibition, she was at first willing to 
help. Then she became sure he did not wish his work in an English 
Gallery, but not till she had shown it in the International. Later 
on, there seemed no question that his wishes could not be opposed 
to her contributing to a small Whistler exhibition at the Tate 
Gallery, or to her making a special exhibition from her own col- 
lection of his paintings and pastels at Obach's. She, and Arthur 
Studd, who supported her, and who afterwards bequeathed his 
Whistlers to the British nation, leave us in doubt therefore as to 
"the master's wishes." Nor is the information, attributed to Miss 
Philip this year, concerning the printing of the lithographs exhibited 
at Obach's in London and Keppel's in New York exactly what one 
would have expected from Whistler. 

Many besides Freer are dead — saddest to us, William Heinemann, 
Whistler's true friend and our true friend, killed like so many good 
men by the war. Richard Canfield is gone and his collection scat- 
tered, all save the lithographs which are preserved in the Brooklyn 
Museum. And Arthur Jerome Eddy who, like Canfield, will live 
by his portrait. And the Hadens, and Mrs. William Whistler, and 

The Whistler Journal 

Rodin, and William Michael Rossetti, and Swinburne. Indeed, so 
many have gone, that we realize how soon the time will come when 
none will remain who knew Whistler, knew the facts of his life. 
It is for this reason we have thought it wise to publish information 
as it was given us, by those who did know him in days when we 
did not, even their opinions and impressions which we do not al- 
ways share. We wish to say now much that was left unsaid, or half- 
said, in the Life, to give many details that could wait then, but can 
wait no longer. For there have been too many examples of white- 
washing by contemporaries too cowardly to tell the truth, too many 
examples of the eagerness of posterity when freed from all responsible 
witnesses, to distort and play with incidents and adventures in 
the lives of the great dead, finding scandals in mean hints and idle 
gossip, the delight of the ignorantly inquisitive who sit in bio- 
graphic judgment. We would spare Whistler, if we could, the fate 
of figuring in the future as "the true Whistler," subjected to the 
dissection, the misrepresentation of busy-bodies, from which too 
many great men have suffered. Nothing in Whistler's life needs to 
be concealed. He was human. Who is not? But the truth cannot 
detract from his fame as the most striking personality, the most 
distinguished artist of his time. 

Our record of his life is not only in our Whistler biography and our 
Whistler Journal but in the collection of Whistleriana that we 
have presented to the Library of Congress, which Mr. Herbert 
Putnam, the Librarian, says "has, as a record, a completeness 
probably unparalleled by that of any other artist or writer." 
It is also a record of the story of modern art from all sides as well 
as from Whistler's. 

The opening of this exhibition of a fraction, though it includes over 
600 items, of our Whistleriana in Washington at the Library of Con- 
gress has proved to us conclusively, however, that if there ever was 
an artless age and an artless race it is this. No people talk so much 
around art and care so little for it. When the Whistler Memorial 
Exhibition was held in London it was visited by thousands daily. 
The King and Queen asked to come. It was opened by Ambassa- 
dors and supported by the press. Here, in the first weeks, not a 
thousand people visited the exhibition. But one Ambassador has 
come near it — naturally M. Jusserand, the French Ambassador; 
but one Minister, M. Peter, the Swiss Minister; not a congressman, 
not a senator that we know of has entered the Gallery set apart 
for it in their Library. So far as we can find out, not a director 
of a Washington Art Gallery has visited it. And, with a single 
exception, not a Washington paper has had an adequate notice of it 



or even one to compare with those in the papers of the far West. 

Most of the journals of the Capitol have ignored it. 
Though so many of Whistler's friends have gone a few are left. 
Duret still lives, Kennedy, Lavery, Guthrie, Walton, Sauter, are 
still here, though the International — Whistler's International— is 
dead, or become British, with a Knight and an Academician for its 
President. Truly, again the artists have gone out and the British 
remain, and history repeats itself. But Whistler's fame grows. 
If this book is appreciated, we will continue to publish The Journal 
kept till this day. Anyway, it will be preserved in the Library of 
Congress with our other Whistleriana, even if it is not now appreci- 
ated, waiting that future when the world shall emerge from its orgy 
of vulgarity, sport, commercialism, and the hypocrisy it has been 
made safe for. But art will triumph and the name and fame of 
Whistler will endure. He is with the Immortals. 
There are again many people to thank, many things for which to 
congratulate ourselves: one of the principal, our obtaining the 
papers in the Whistler v. Ruskin libel action. After being re- 
jected and refused by several collectors and museums of America, 
the Whistler papers came to us and now with other Whistler- 
iana, are in the Library of Congress — priceless documents which 
will be valued in the future though they were spurned today. What 
would we give for a record of Rembrandt's bankruptcy? And the 
record of Whistler's is ours. His Honour Judge Parry, son of 
Mr. Serjeant Parry, Whistler's barrister in the Whistler v. Ruskin 
case, has more recently obtained for us, to be deposited in the 
Library of Congress with our Whistleriana, the Ruskin papers 
from Messrs. Walker, Martineau and Co., Ruskin's solicitors, so 
that the documents are complete and the record is intactfor future 
reference. Not only our thanks but the thanks of our country are 
due to Judge Parry and to Messrs. Walker, Martineau and Co., 
especially Mr. J. A. Hammett, one of the firm, for this important 
gift to the Library and therefore to the nation. There are many 
others who possess papers and documents about Whistler, and it is 
our hope that they may add them and make perfect the unrivalled 
collection which the United States Government now owns. We 
have also in the Washington Collection the entire Whistler Memo- 
rial correspondence and the photographs of the properly rejected 
design by Rodin, rejected rightly by artists — and Rodin was their 
President. We must here again thank Mr. Putnam, Librarian of 
Congress, for allowing us to exhibit so admirably a selection of our 
Whistleriana, which has grown with and out of this book, and the 
various officials of the Library, especially Professor Rice, Mr. 


The Whistler Journal 

Roberts and Mr. Bier, who helped us to install it in the Print Di- 
vision, and Miss Wright and Miss Bier for much work. It has 
been the American public alone which has shown no interest. The 
American public of the present will not last, or the country will 
not last. But the name and fame of Whistler will endure. 
Messrs. Knoedler have greatly aided us by furnishing us with many 
photographs and much information about works in their possession. 
Messrs. Rosenbach supplied us with the Greaves portraits in abun- 
dance, and we have shown and told the performances of the 
Brothers Greaves for the first time. Mrs. Eddy has given us the 
portrait of her husband which, during his lifetime, he refused to 
publish even in his own book on Whistler. Messrs. Keppel have, 
as usual, helped in many ways, and Messrs. Kennedy and Co. 
especially, permitting us to use the illustrations in their catalogue of 
the lithographs; and so have other dealers who know and under- 
stand. They have also shown us, and consulted us about, the end- 
less fakes with which the country is flooded, and are a delightful 
contrast to those amateur collectors who know everything about 
Whistler and cannot — some of them — tell his signature from 
Harper Pennington's to say nothing of a good work from a bad 
imitation; a contrast also to the amateur amateurs and the business 
men who, if they employed the same methods in collecting cash 
as they do in collecting art, would find themselves in the bank- 
ruptcy court in six months — and occasionally they do. The re- 
storer too is abroad and works have been utterly ruined, notably 
The Lange Leizen in the Johnson Collection, all the skin cleaned, 
scraped, scrubbed off it. 

We have been helped by Mr. J. P. Heseltine; Mr. Sydney Pawling; 
greatly by Mr. Mitchell Kennerley; Mr. Kent of the Metropolitan 
Museum; the Milch Gallery; Mr. E. G. Kennedy; Miss Alice 
Roullier; Mr. Weitenkampf of the New York Public Library; Mr. 
W. H. Fox of the Brooklyn Museum; Mr. George Stevens of the 
Toledo Gallery; Mr. J. E. Lodge, Curator of the Freer Gallery; 
Mr. Lucas; Mr. Bement of the Maryland Institute, who, under the 
excellent guidance of Mr. C. Lewis Hind, the Editor of The Studio, 
and Mr. Fitz Roy Carrington, Lecturer on Prints at Harvard, 
discovered forty water-colours, two pen drawings, and twenty some 
wash-drawings which turned out to be two water-colours, one pen 
drawing and one rejected wash drawing in black-and-white. 
Recently we have been assured by the editors of an art paper that 
"So much has been written about Whistler, a certain weariness is 
making itself felt." It is this desire for some new thing that has 
made the Isms so popular in a world of ignorant amateurs. With 



such people and in the art schools, so-called, of the country, 
Whistler is not the fashion — he requires too much knowledge to 
understand, too much ability to follow. So they all go the easier 
way, and art in America today is dormant. Artlessness and Cu- 
bism and other Isms are the fashion, and fashion rules art here, 
not tradition. But art will live and Whistler is among the Artists. 

Joseph Pennell 
Elizabeth Robins Pennell 

Brooklyn, September i, 1921 

















AND ONE 208 













G., after an etching, refers to the Grolier Club Catalogue of Whistler's 


M., refers to tlie Caxton Club Catalogue 

W., after a lithograph, refers to Way's and Kennedy's Catalogues of 

Whistler's Lithographs 

Firelight— Joseph Pennell {Lithograph. W. 104) Frontispiece 

Portrait of E. R. Pennell {Lithograph. W. 103) Frontispiece 

Autographed Proofs by Whistler from the Pennell Collection, Library 
of Congress, Washington 

Photogravures by Messrs. F. A. Ringler Co., Printed by Messrs. Peters 

To face page 
Tablet and Brass to Members of the Whistler Family in the Church 

at Goring-on-Thames, England i 

Rubbings in Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

Whistler's House at Chelsea {By Sir F. Seymour Haden) {Etching) 
Whistler's House at Chelsea {By Joseph Pennell) {Etching) 2 

The White House {Photograph by W. E. Gray) 3 

Lady Meux Triplex — Caricature of Whistler Painting the Three 
Portraits of Lady Meux at once {Unknown) 3 

In the possession of the Rosenbach Co. 

Whistler About the Time of His Return from Venice {Photograph by 
Mendelsohn) 6 

Loaned by Burton Mansfield, Esq. 

Portrait by Carlo Pellegrini, "Ape" {Dry-Point) 6 

Poster of the Sale at the White House {Proof) 7 

"On the premises of Mr. Whistler" omitted from poster used. 
Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

21 Cheyne Walk {By Joseph Pennell) {Etching) 8 

In the Garden of Same {Lithograph. W. 38) 8 

By permission of Messrs. Kennedy and Co. 

W. E. Henley {Lithograph. W. 127) 9 

By permission of Messrs. Kennedy and Co. 

Poster for Exhibition of Nocturnes, Marines and Chevalet Pieces 10 
Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

Late Piquette {Lithograph. W. 57) 10 

By permission of Messrs. Kennedy and Co. 

• • • 


List of Illustrations 

To face page 
Stephane Mallarme {Lithograph. W. 66) 1 1 

By permission of Messrs. Kennedy and Co. 
The Duet {Lithograph. Undescribed) II 

In the possession of Messrs. Knoedler and Co. 

Miss Mildred Howells {Lithograph. W. 75) 12 

By permission of Messrs. Kennedy and Co. 

Mother and Daughter {Lithograph. Undescribed) 13 

In the possession of Messrs. Knoedler and Co. 

Study Portrait of Joseph Pennell {Lithograph. W. 111) 14 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

The Russian Schube {Lithograph. W. 112) 14 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

Nelson Boarded at Last 14 

Reproduction from The Daily Chronicle 
Not Known at the Royal Academy 14 

Reproduction from The Daily Mail. Originals in Pennell Collection, 

Library of Congress, Washington 

Whistler M4King a Lithograph at Way's {By T. R. Way) {Lithograph) 14 

In the possession of Mrs. T. R. Way 

Portrait of Thomas Way {Lithograph. W. 107) 14 

By permission of Messrs. Kennedy and Co. 

Portrait of Whistler {By J. Boldini) {Oil) 18 

Brooklyn Museum 

Portrait Made While Whistler Posed to Boldini {By Paul Helleu) 
{Dry-Point) 18 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

Whistler Sleeping {By J. Boldini) {Dry-Point) 18 

Done between poses in Boldini's Studio. In the possession of E. G. 
Kennedy, Esq. 

Whistler in His Paris Studio {By Dornac) {Photograph) 18 

Showing the screen with Battersea Bridge made for Leyland 

Fruitiere, Rue De Grenelle {Lithograph. W. 70) 20 

By permission of Messrs. Kennedy and Co. 
St. Giles-in-the-Fields {Lithograph. W. 120) 21 

By permission of Messrs. Kennedy and Co. 
Swinburne {Dry-Point. M. 136) 24 

Portrait, Attributed to Whistler {Oil) 25 

Portrait by Fantin Latour {Oil) 25 

Freer Collection, National Museum, Washington 

List of Illustrations 

To jace page 
Whistler in the Big Hat — Hat Worn in Paris and on Journey to Alsace 

{Etching. M. 54) 28 

Proof of Destroyed Plate 28 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

Whistler Smoking {Oil) 29 

Attributed to Whistler. By permission of A. E. Gallatin, Esq. 

Whistler in the Big Hat {Oil) 29 

Freer Collection, National Museum, Washington 

Lindsfy Row {By Joseph Pennell) {Etching) 34 

Whistler lived in the houses at each end of the Row 

Millbank {Etching. M. 71) 35 

Used as invitation card to Thomas's Exhibition of Etchings 

Dr. Whistler {Lithograph. W. 78) 38 

By permission of Messrs. Kennedy and Co. 

Sketch from the Portrait in the 1900 Paris Exhibition {Pen-and-ink) 40 
Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

Portrait of Whistler from Title to the French Set {Etching. M. 25) 44 

Unpublished Title to French Set {Etching) 45 

Grolier Club Supplement. By permission of the Grolier Club 

Drouet {Etching. M. 55) 48 

Riault {Etching. M. 65) 49 

Speke Hall {Dry-Point. M. q6) 54 

Lyme Regis {Water-Colour) 55 
In the possession of Mrs. Knowles 

C. A. Howell {By H. T. Dunn) {Pen-and-ink) 58 

In the possession of the Estate of W. M. Rossetti 

Chelsea Embankment {Oil) 59 

Freer Collection, National Museum, Washington 

Rosa Corder {Pen and Wash) 60 

In the possession of Alan S. Cole, C. B. 

Selsey Bill {W ater-Colour) 61 

In the possession of Mrs. Knowles 

Chinese Cabinet Subject of the Owl and the Cabinet {Photo) 62 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

Designs for Blue and White China {Wash) 70 

The Murray Marks Collection 

Drawing for Sir Henry Thompson's Catalogue of a Collection of Blue 
and White Nankin Porcelain {Wash) 71 

In the possession of Pickford R. Waller, Esq. 


List of Illustrations 

To face page 
Cover of the Unique Large Paper Copy of the Book 71 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 
The Purple Cap (Pastel) 78 

Freer Collection, National Museum, Washington 
Little Nude (Pastel) 78 

Formerly in the Canfield Collection 
Boulevard Poissoniere (Etching. M. 4.23) 79 

Balustrade, Luxembourg (Etching. M. 427) 79 

Grolier Club Catalogue 
La Mere Gerard (Etching. M. 11) 80 

Reading by Lamplight (Etching. M. 33) 81 

Seymour Haden, left; Traer, centre; Lady Haden, right 

Delatre (Etching. M. 26) 82 

Fumette Crouching (Etching. M. jj) 82 

Bibi Lalouette (Etching. M. 51) 84 

Becquet (Etching. M. 52) 90 

Finette (Etching. M. 58) 90 

Axenff.ld (Etching,. M. 64) 91 

Astruc (Etching. M. 55) 91 

F. R. Leyland (Etching. M. 102) 96 

Sketch of Leyland (Oil) 97 
In the possession of the Estate of F. R. Leyland 

Florence Leyland (Dry-Point. M. no) 98 

Elinor Leyland (Dry-Point. M. 109) 98 

The Peacock Room — From a Photograph Made While It Was in Place 
at Princes Gate, Showing Blue and White on the Walls (Photograph) 100 
Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

Rich and Poor Peacocks 100 

Peacock Room. Freer Collection, National Museum, Washington 
Mrs. Leyland. The Velvet Dress (Dry-Point. M. 103) 101 

Studies of Mrs. Leyland's Dress. (Black and White Chalk) 101 

In the possession of Walter S. Brewster, Esq. and Mrs. Knowles 
Sketch of Detail of Peacock Room (Pen-and-ink) 104 

Sketch of Stairway at Leyland's House — Partially Decorated by 
Whistler (Pen and Pencil) 104 

In the possession of the Estate of Mrs. Leyland 
Sketches of Peacock Room (Pen-and-ink) 105 

In the possession of Mrs. J. C. Gardner 

List of Illustrations 

To face page 
Chelsea Embankment {Water-Colour) 1 16 

Note for Nocturne (Black and White Chalk) 116 

In the possession of Mrs. T. R. Way 

Nocturne (By Water Greaves) (Oil) 120 

In the possession of the Rosenbach Co. 

Nocturne (By Whistler) (Oil) 120 

In the possession of the Estate of Mrs. Leyland 

Lord Wolseley (Dry-Point. M. 164) 121 

Whistler's Etching Needle — Actual Size Given By Whistler to 
Joseph Pennell 122 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

The Table Palette — Used in Fulham Studio (By G. P. Jacomb-Hood) 

(Wash) 122 

Mr. Eldon (Oil) 123 

Once in the possession of Mr. Walter Sickert and attributed by him 
to Whistler 

Interior of the Studio, Fulham (By G. P. Jacomb-Hood) (Wash) 124 

Tinnie Greaves (Dry-Point. M. 141.) 125 

Study of Carlyle on Back of Canvas (Signed by Greaves) (Oil) 128 

In the possession of Messrs. Dowdeswell and Dowdeswell 

Head of Carlyle (By Whistler) (Oil) 128 

In the possession of Burton Mansfield, Esq. 

White Girl. No. IV. (Oil) 134 

In the possession of John F. Braun, Esq. 

Sketch of Same (Chalk) 135 

Attributed to Whistler. The Way Collection 

Mrs. A. J. Cass att (Pen-and-ink) 136 

In the possesssion of Alan S. Cole, C. B. 

Battersea Bridge (Oil) 137 

Tate Gallery, London 

Passing Under Old Battersea Bridge (By Walter Greaves) (Oil** 137 

From The N. Y. Herald 

Portraits of James McNeill Whistler (By Walter Greaves) (Oils) 142 

In the possession of'the Rosenbach Co. 

Spy's Caricature of Whistler (Lithograph) 143 

Published in Vanity Fair 

A Portrait of Whistler (By Walter Greaves) (Oil) 143 

In the possession of the Rosenbach Co. 


List of Illustrations 

To face page 
Jo — Print from the Destroyed Plate {Dry-Point. M. 77) 146 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

Wall of the First International Exhibition at Knightsbridge 150 


The centre group of works arranged by Whistler 

Wall of the Whistler Exhibition at Bradford (Photograph) 

Arranged by Joseph Pennell. Oils, Water-Colours and Prints hung 
together 150 

Sketches by Whistler — For the Seal of the International Society 
of Sculptors, Painters and Gravers, and the Final Design used by 
the Society (Pen-and-ink) 151 

Interior of Room in Whistler's First House in Lindsey Row Showing 
the Mantelpiece before which the Little White Girl was Painted 
(Contemporary Photograph) 152 

Loaned by Mr. Chambers 
Dining-Room in Whistler's First House in Lindsey Row (Contemporary 

Photograph) 152 

Loaned by Mr. Chambers 
Fireplace, Dining-Room in Whistler's First House in Lindsey Row 152 
(Contemporary Photograph) _ 
Loaned by Mr. Chambers 
Interior of the Lindsey Row Studio (By Walter Greaves) (Oil) 154 

In the possession of the Rosenbach Co. 

Note Blanche — Portrait of Jo (Oil) 156 

In the possession of Mrs. Cobden Sanderson 

Sketches of Maud (Pen-and-ink) 157 

Weary — Portrait of Jo (Dry-Point. M. 92) 160 

Sketch of Maud (Pen-and-ink) 162 

Formerly in the possession of S. P. Avery 

Sketch of Maud (Pen-and-ink) 163 

From Arrangement in White and Black No. 1., afterward called 

Casa Jankovitz, Where Whistler Lived Most of the Time in Venice 
(By Joseph Pennell) (Pastel) 164 

Whistler's House in the Vale, Chelsea (By W. E. Gray) (Photograph) 166 

The Dyke at Domburg (Water-Colour) 167 

Shore Near Dublin (Oil) 167 

Freer Collection, National Museum, Washington 

Enlargement of Etching Black Lion Wharf Published in The Daily 

Chronicle 17° 


List of Illustrations 

To face page 

Illustration to Little Johannes {Drawing on Wood) 

The Quadri, Venice (By Joseph Pennell) (Pastel) 172 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

Portrait of Carlyle (Oil) 174 

Glasgow Art Gallery 

Sketch of the Portrait (Pen-and-ink) 174 

In the possession of Alan S. Cole, C. B. 

Lion — Designed for the British Artists (Pen-and-ink) 176 

First Page of the Memorial to Queen Victoria from the British 176 
Artists (Water-Colour) 
Royal Collection, Windsor 

Interior of Gallery of the British Artists Showing Velarium and 
Arrangement of Pictures (Pen-and-ink) 177 

Formerly in the possession of G. R. Halkett 

Page of Sketches of British Artists Exhibition, 1886 (By Bernard 
Partridge) (Pen-and-ink) 1 78 

Under a Bridge (Pastel) 182 

The Riva (Black Chalk) 182 

In the possession of Mitchell Kennerley, Esq. 

Venice Pastels 182 

In the possession of J. P. Heseltine, Esq. 

The Gold Girl, Connie Gilchrist, Sketches of the Picture (Pen- 
and-ink) 182 
In the possession of Alan S. Cole, C. B. and Henry Blackburne 

The Dancing Girl (Pen-and-ink) 183 

In the possession of Messrs. Knoedler and Co. 

The Quadri at Venice, Whistler's Cafe (By Joseph Pennell) (Pastel) 188 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

Sketch of Whistler (By Phil May) (Pen-and-ink) 189 

Portrait of Whistler (Wood-Block in Colour) 200 

Drawn and cut by William Nicholson, Esq. 

Sketch of Whistler (Pen-and-ink) 202 

By Harper Pennington and Evolution of His Signature 

Sketch of Harper Pennington (By Whistler) (Pen-and-ink) 203 

Cafe, Corsica (Pen-and-ink) 206 

The Forge (Pen-and-ink) 206 

In the possession of Messrs. Knoedler and Co. 


List of Illustrations 

To face page 
Whistler Sketching in Corsica (By William Heinemann) (Photograph) 208 

A Street in Corsica (Pen-and-Pencil) 209 

In the possession of Messrs. Knoedler and Co. 

Smiths, Ajaccio (Chalk) 214 

In the possession of Messrs. Knoedler and Co. 

Phryne (Oil) 218 

International Exhibition, 1901 

The Forge, Ajaccio (Chalk) 220 

In the possession of Messrs. Knoedler and Co. 

Richard A. Canfield (Oil) 234 

In the possession of Messrs. Knoedler and Co. 

Arthur J. Eddy (Oil) 240 

In the possession of Mrs. Arthur J. Eddy 

La Napolitaine, Rose et Or. Portrait of Carmen Rossi (Oil) 244 

In the possession of Messrs. Knoedler and Co. 

Little Evelyn, Daughter oe D. C. Thomson, Esq. (Lithograph. W. no) 254 
By permission of Kennedy and Co. 

Robert, Comte De Montesquiou-Fezenzac (Oil) 270 

In the Frick collection 

The Mother (Dry-Point. M. 97) 272 

Henry Irving (Dry-Point. M. 170) 272 

From destroyed plates. Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, 

Whistler, About 1878 (Photograph) 282 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

House Where Whistler Died and Chelsea Church from Which He 
was Buried (By J. Pennell) (Etching) 296 

Corrected Copy of "Who's Who" 298 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

Cabinet Decorated with Painted Panels (By Whistler) 302 

Owned by P. R. Waller, Esq. 

Sketch for Sideboard (Pen Drawing) 3 02 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

Sketch for Rosettes (Chalk) 302 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

Sketch for Matting (Chalk) 3 02 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 


List of Illustrations 

To face page 

Design for Silk Butterflies Worn at Private View {Wash) 304 

In the possession of Mrs. Wickham Flower 
The Evolution of the Butterfly {Pen-and-ink) 304 

Pall Mall Magazine 

Rodin's Rejected Memorial to Whistler {Photographs) 308 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

Letter from Rodin to Joseph Pennell 3 12 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 
Cover of Mr. Serjeant Parry's Brief for Whistler 318 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 
Trial. Caricatures of Trial {By M. Bryan in "Judy") {Pen-and-ink) 322 



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"21 Bedford Street, London, W. C, May 28th, 1900. 
Dear Pennell, 

I have at last got Whistler to consent that you shall write, if you 
will (and I know you will only too gladly) a book on him, illus- 
trated with his pictures, his etchings and his drawings. Here is 
a magnificent opportunity. Yours very sincerely, 

Wm. Heinemann." 

When J. received this letter he went at once to see Heinemann, 
who explained that he had long wanted to publish a Life of Whistler, 
that he had first suggested it should be written by W. E. Henley, 
but Whistler objected, next by Charles Whibley, but Whistler 
protested, and then by J. and Whistler agreed. He would write it, 
J. told Heinemann, but on one condition: that E. should write it 
with him. Heinemann was willing. Would Whistler be willing? 
It did not take J. long to find out. From Heinemann's he went to 
Whistler's studio at 8 Fitzroy Street. He told Whistler what had 
happened. Whistler consented, and said he would help us in every 
way. There should be two volumes, one his life, the other his work, 
and he gave his permission to have his work photographed, and 
he promised to tell us things about himself just as they occurred 
to him, as he talked, whenever and wherever we met, and E. should 
put down what he said, and he would correct it. And so after our 
next meeting with him on Whit-Sunday, June 3rd, 1900, E. began 
The Whistler Journal which has been kept up ever since. 
J. had known Whistler sixteen years, we both had known his work 
long before that, and many of our most delightful memories are 
of days when there was no thought of a biography. We made few 
notes, we kept no journal during those years, but we remember 
better some things we did not make notes of than others of which 
notes were made. There was no reason to make notes until he 
asked us, though we were foolish not to, for we were far more 
intimate with him than any one else. But then, there are many 
other things in our lives that we should have done that we have 
left undone, and when Whistler did ask us to make notes, we began 
to make them with all diligence. 

1900I I 


J., a Quaker boy in Philadelphia, a student of the Pennsylvania 
Academy schools, first saw Whistler's work at the house of the 
President of the Academy, James L. Claghorn, in Logan Square, 
Philadelphia. Claghorn was glad to show his prints, and many 
were the First Day afternoons that J. spent looking them over at 
one end of the room with Harry Poore and Gerome Ferris — fellow 
students in the Academy Schools who cared — Claghorn with Peter 
Moran and Stephen J. Ferris— artists who also cared — sitting at 
the other; Claghorn encouraging young artists instead of patron- 
izing them. The prints that appealed most to J. and that he 
studied oftenest and with greatest interest were Whistler's 
and Haden's. 

His next chance was at exhibitions. In 1881, Ernest G. Brown of 
the Fine Art Society, brought over from London the first Venice 
Set of twelve and showed them in one of the little galleries in the 
Academy, decorated in white and gold as Whistler had decorated 
his gallery in London. The show was a failure. It wasn't even 
made fun of. Philadelphians then were Americans and didn't ape 
the English as they do now. Nobody in Philadelphia, except Clag- 
horn, wanted Whistlers at that time, though J. revelled in them, 
and though in New York Wunderlich, with whom Mr. E. G. 
Kennedy then was, bought six sets, Mr. Avery one, and Mr. 
Andrews another, while Mr. Howard Mansfield had already begun 
his fine collection, and Doctor Darrach of Philadelphia, a friend of 
Doctor Whistler's, had The Thames Set, though this later was 
burned or lost. In 1882 the first International Exhibition of Etch- 
ings of any importance in the United States was given in the 
Academy by the Philadelphia Society of Etchers of which J., a 
mere boy, was Secretary, and a large number of Whistlers were 
hung. The same year J. heard Seymour Haden lecture on etching 
in Philadelphia, and this lecture helped to draw the attention of 
American artists and American art lovers to the art of etching. 
He still remembers the supper after the lecture, given by Claghorn 
to Haden at the Union League. The exhibition, lecture, supper, 
even the brand of champagne, — O, that dear dead past! — had all 
been arranged by Frederick Keppel who, about the same time, 
began to publish J's. own prints, so that he was often at Keppel's 
print shop in New York where he was always sure to find more 

2 [1880-1885 


It "* :^a*:_,.-/„ 



By Sir F. Seymour Haden 

(See page 7) 



By Joseph Pennell 

(See page 7) 

Photograph by W. E. Gray 






In the possession of the Rosenbach Co. 

The Beginning 

Whistlers to see and to study, and where he remembers copying in 
pen-and-ink Haden's print of Whistler's House at Chelsea. He 
remembers also Haden's praise of Whistler's work. On one occa- 
sion Haden said that if he had to sell his Rembrants or his Whist- 
lers, he would sell the Rembrants first. He sold both, but he sold 
the Whistlers first. 

E.'s interest in Whistler was first roused at much the same moment, 
by Oscar Wilde whom she not only heard lecture during his Ameri- 
can lecture tour, but met while he was in Philadelphia. Her Uncle, 
Charles Godfrey Leland, had shortly before come home from 
England where Wilde had known him, admired him, looked up to 
him as the youth will to the older man in his profession. Leland 
was living — or camping out — in the big Broad Street boarding- 
house where the Philadelphia so-called Art Club now stands, and 
Wilde often dropped in for a talk. His enthusiasm had not been 
wholly swallowed up in his affectations. It had survived even the 
mockery of imitation — the velvet knickerbockers, the lilies and 
sunflowers of the American college boys who flocked to his lectures 
arrayed in all his own aesthetic glory. Besides, there would have 
been no use posing for Leland, who posed himself and would stand 
no rivals. In Leland's rooms, Wilde was natural even when he 
returned from the West in cowboy hat and flowing cloak, or came 
back from Camden and Walt Whitman. His talk was extraordinary 
to a girl who had never been further from Philadelphia than Rich- 
mond in Virginia. Like his lectures, it was mostly around art, and 
he had no more to say about anyone than Whistler. He had not 
then outgrown his deference nor the acknowledgment of his debt. 
He was a worshipper at Whistler's shrine, he said. 
But most important to both of us was the fact that at the Pennsyl- 
vania Academy in 1881, Whistler's portrait of his Mother was hung: 
not in the place of honour, but in the narrow North Corridor beside 
the staircase. To Mrs. Anna Lea Merritt belongs the credit of 
getting Whistler to allow the picture to be sent over, in the hope 
that it might be purchased by the Academy. The price was one 
thousand dollars and, since writing the Life, we have heard that 
it could have been had for five hundred — we might recall the fact 
that the French Government gave Whistler six hundred and twenty 
dollars for it. After the painting had unsuccessfully toured America, 
it returned to Chelsea, and the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine 
Arts, having lost a golden opportunity, has now bought and hung 
upon its walls one of the innumerable Greaves portraits of Whistler. 
True, the Academy did bestow its medals upon Whistler. The 
1880-1885] 3 


The Whistler Journal 

Carnegie Art Institute, fifteen years afterwards (1896), bought for 
five thousand dollars the Sarasate, the first picture Whistler sold 
to a public gallery in America, though the Wilstach Collection in 
Philadelphia purchased The Yellow Buskin from a dealer in 1894. 
Mr. Harrison S. Morris, who was Director of the Pennsylvania 
Academy at the time, has told us how it came about. The picture 
was at the Chicago Exposition in 1893 with the Princesse du Pays 
de la Porcelaine and The Fur Jacket, and, at the close he brought 
the three to Philadelphia, showed them in the Academy in 1894, 
and persuaded John G. Johnson to buy The Yellow Buskin, for the 
Wilstach Collection. Alexander Reid, the Glasgow dealer from 
whom it was obtained, asked fifteen thousand dollars for it, Johnson 
offered seven thousand five hundred, and his offer was accepted. 
We also remember seeing in those earlier days The White Girl in 
the Metropolitan Museum, New York, where Tom Whistler, he 
told J., sent it to escape paying insurance, and where, later, Mrs. 
Untermeyer's Falling Rocket was hung. But the Metropolitan 
Museum only waked up to an appreciation of Whistler under its 
present Director Mr. Robinson, his predecessor Sir Charles Purdon 
Clark having calmly announced that he "did not understand 
Whistler and did not want to." 

In 1884, after we were married, we went together to England, with 
much work to do for The Century. One commission was to illus- 
trate articles on Old Chelsea by Dr. Benjamin Ellis Martin, who 
knew not only Old Chelsea but much of the rest of Old London, 
and who, from that summer until the day of his death, had for us 
the further charm of being as American as Americans used to be 
and are no longer, seeming all the more so against his English 
background. The scheme was to get Whistler to make drawings 
or etchings for the articles and J. went to see him about this in his 
studio at No. 13 Tite Street. At the time E. had undertaken to 
keep a diary which we wish she had succeeded in doing. The 
record of the work in Chelsea went no further than " J. to Chelsea" 
until Monday, July 13th, 1884, when a few details were added in 
the first Whistler note she ever made: 

Monday, July 13th, 1884. J. to Chelsea, and called on Whistler 
about The Century work. Whistler was at lunch in a blue and 
yellow room — asked J. to stay. J. asked him about the Thames 
plates which Whistler said were all done out of doors. Talked for 
two hours — mostly about himself and his work. Pointed to a 
4 [1880-1885 

The Beginning 

nocturne of Fireworks at Vauxhall — said it was the finest thing 
that had ever been done, that critics pitched into it, but that any 
tot knew it was fireworks — then showed a pastel of a girl with an 
umbrella — "a classic" — asked J. to come again. 

J. remembers most distinctly other details of that visit. He remem- 
bers there was a curry for lunch because it was the first he ever 
tasted. He remembers that when he asked Whistler to do the 
drawings, Whistler said, "I can't, but" — turning to Mortimer 
Menpes, who until then had lingered unseen in a corner — "here's 
a chance for you. You will do these things." "No," said J., "if 
you cannot, why, I'll do them myself." And from that moment 
they began to get on terms. We know now it was because of this 
speaking up to Whistler that we got on with him always — also 
because we were, as he was, real Americans. And J. remembers it 
was on that day he first saw the Sarasate, in the studio, looming up 
at the end of a long dark passage which led to it, looking just as 
Whistler wanted it to look, as if the violinist were standing on the 
darkened stage. Like the Meninas, the Sarasate should be shown 
alone in a properly lighted room. J. remembers also that Whistler 
sent him that afternoon to an old photographer in a by-street who 
had photographs of some of his pictures and also views of Old 
Chelsea. Then Whistler asked him to come to his show being held 
at Dowdeswell's in Bond Street — it was the show of Notes, Har- 
monies, Nocturnes, 1884, in which were many of his Cornish 
sketches — but J's. memories of that first summer in London, so 
crowded with new adventures and new impressions, are all con- 
fused. One, however, stands out with greater vividness, the 
memory of the day when, going into Charing Cross Station, he 
saw Whistler at the book-stall, the only time he ever saw him in 
his long frock coat, white trousers, and top hat, carrying his long 
cane, and J. did not like his looks and avoided him. 
At this period, and during the greater part of his life, when he was 
in the studio at work, Whistler looked not unlike an old-fashioned 
American barkeeper because he wore a white waistcoat with 
sleeves which all bar-keepers used to wear, and also because he had 
the thick curly hair which many of them cultivated. They juggled 
with glasses, a lost art in this home of hypocrites; he mastered 
paint, as every artist thinks he has in this land of artless imitation. 
We have seen an oil portrait of him by himself in this costume. But 
after his wife's death he added a black coat over the white jacket. 

1880-1885] 5 

The Whistler Journal 

Out of the studio and in the street he dressed for some years as 
J. saw him at Charing Cross. If he changed, it was probably for 
something more exaggerated. G. A. Holmes, a Chelsea artist, is 
one among many from whom we have heard of this side of Whistler 
and of the variations in dress he invented. He remembered "the 
day I sauntered up Pall Mall with Whistler who wore a flat- 
brimmed top hat, long black frock coat, white waistcoat and white 
trousers, and carried the long stick, and — well — some people did 
observe him." Frederick Jameson, with whom Whistler shared a 
studio for almost a year, put these exaggerations down to Whistler's 
gaiety and fun which gave him a new idea of life, he said, of what 
life might be. It was this sense of fun above all that made Whistler 
do the astonishing things he did, and Jameson delighted in the 
memory of him walking out with two umbrellas, one white and one 
black, and his explanation that the black was in case it rained, and 
the white in case the sun shone. The joy was malicious when he 
returned from Venice wearing the coat with a cape he had bought 
there: as great a sensation in Bond Street galleries as among Sack- 
ville Street tailors. He posed in it to photographers and to Mr. 
Menpes, as if bent on handing down the joy to future generations. 
But when convention required it he could be as conventional as 
anyone. In these matters he had a sense of appropriateness. Cir- 
cumstances made the difference in his dress just as he felt age did 
in the appearance of Napoleon who, he said, "was quite right when 
young and struggling for success to have long wild hair and thin 
haggard face, and equally right, when older and success had come, 
to be smooth and sleek and develop a corporation." 
This Whistler of the strange costumes was the man the world got 
to know through Ape's and Spy's cartoons and later, in a garbled 
version, through the numerous caricatures of Mortimer Menpes 
and Walter Greaves, too exaggerated to be authentic; also from 
the Chase portrait, now in the Metropolitan Museum, painted the 
summer after we came to London. The impression Whistler's 
dress made on those who did not know him was "startling." We 
have heard from Emil Claus how it struck Constantin Meunier. 
Claus, with other Belgian artists, was in London during the War 
which he tried to forget by recalling the past. Dining with us 
one evening, he began to talk of Meunier whom he described as 
simple in manner and dress and every other way. He had gone 
once to Paris with Meunier for the Salons, but, he happened to be 
alone at the Champ-de-Mars when he saw a curious figure with 
flat-brimmed hat — chapeau calicot — and monocle and of many 

6 [1880-1885 


Photograph by Mendelsohn 

Loaned by Burton Mansfield, Esq. 





The ocArlt ncn- aaaa'aaaie Coacm.. c«api-l*iag aa 

Ebonized & gilt Drawing Room Suite 





In mtjMt ease, by T»aikifl M .*, CARVED OtfJK DAVENPORT, **• **4 Oemlml Tabl**, Fceden t&4 >>u of F,lr« .lr M i, 

Turkey pile and Persian Carpets, VERY VALUABLE COLLECTION of 



Fittings of Dining Room, Japanese i amphornood Cabinet, 

- mahogany set or dinino tables, 



Etchings and Drawings, 

XTCHINO PLATES J.f.«.— lainuiM B»b, OB9AMENTU. ITEM*, .Upon* luik, 


Of HKUSTKADW *»d BEDDIXi, M>b«fuf Cb-u af Dttwrn. Wukilui> *oi Fiui«^». fthawar Bath with Ciriiii,, 

100 On. Silver Plated Articles 

Cattery, -14mm, dtisa and GUa*, anal Cillurj tJ(ea*lta. uaV ato*r Effeata, 



On the Premises of Mr. W1USTLEB, 

On WEDNESDAY, MAY 7th, 1879 

At IS far I »'n*x-k. 
, .. , , ..!.-. ha.! <.:■ Ike l"T«»lm»a ■nd «l thr Afl<-tl6t,«e,V Office*, 

..->■» 69, CHANCKRY LANE 



On the premises of Mr. Whistler omitted from poster used. Pennell Collection, Library of 

Congress, Washington 

The Beginning 

poses. He asked who it was, and was told, "Vistlaire." That 
evening he and Meunier were at the Cafe Napolitain. The same 
curious figure appeared, stood a minute at the door, the flat- 
brimmed hat down over his eyes, in his hand a tall slender stick. 
Everyone stared. To Meunier, who was staring with the rest, 
Claus whispered "Vistlaire!" Meunier said "C'est dommage!" and 
that was all. Had Whistler sat down and talked, Meunier would 
have forgotten the flat-brimmed hat and the long stick and the 
pose, and been conscious only of the artist. That was always the 
way with those who could understand. But we wonder whether, 
that evening, Meunier was wearing his sweater and his beret in 
which he also liked to pose for the photographer? Both were 
artists, and that is all there is about it. 

Confused as J's. memories are of our first year in London, we have 
nothing else to depend on and, at least, they are fuller than that 
earliest of all the note-books, in which there is but one other refer- 
ence to Whistler, and it is vaguer still: — 

Monday, August nth, 1884. After lunch at the Holborn, went to 
Chelsea. J. P. made a sketch from the bridge. I wandered and 
watched a boat-race which had crowded the Embankment. After it 
was over, walked about Chelsea. Saw Rossetti's house and Turner's 
and the one Whistler used to live in. Then home by the steamboat. 

"The one Whistler used to live in" was the White House where 
his stay six years before had been cut tragically short by the Ruskin 
case and the bankruptcy. An empty, bare little note this, not a 
word in it as to the look, the condition of the house, only interesting 
for the reference to the penny steamboat on the Thames, one of 
the London joys of those old days gone forever. 
There is no mention of Whistler after this until several months had 
passed and we were in Venice where Whistler was the hero of the 
cafes and trattorias Duveneck introduced us to. It was little 
more than four years since Whistler, in his wide-brimmed hat and 
flowing tie, penniless and waiting for payment, watched over by 
Maud, tireless, working from dawn to dusk, had become a rival 
of Duveneck with the "Boys," and created the Whistler Legend. 
But the Venetian note-book has disappeared for the moment, gone 
astray in the chaos of breaking-up our Adelphi Terrace flat and 
ending our thirty-four years' life in London — another of the little 
horrors of the great useless war. 
1880-1885] 7 

The Whistler Journal 

This brings us to our return to England in the late spring of 1885 — 
shortly after Whistler delivered the Ten O'Clock which we never 
heard — and to our settling down in London, and the days when we 
not only listened to Whistler stories and looked at his work, but 
got to know him, the knowing gradually growing with the years 
into friendship and intimacy. 


WE have no notes of Whistler for 1885, the summer of our 
return to London, but many memories. It was the summer 
that Whistler and Chase were painting each other: Whistler mak- 
ing Chase "beautiful on canvas, the Masher of the Avenues," but 
the portrait never seen since; Chase making the weak caricature 
now at the Metropolitan which could so much more easily have 
been spared. As time went on, J. began to run across Whistler 
occasionally at private views and galleries and functions, but it 
was not until Henley and The Scots, changed to National, Observer, 
came up to London in 1892 that he saw much of Whistler and 
learned to understand him. 

Before this, however, an incident in connection with The Scots 
Observer had been the cause of a second meeting, and a very friendly 
one. Sir Hubert von Herkomer published the libretto and music 
of his play An Idyl, and he illustrated it with pen drawings, repro- 
duced by photogravure and faked up with a little dry point, which 
he tried to sell as etchings. J. wrote an open letter to the eminent 
professor, in The Scots Observer saying frankly what he thought of 
the professor's proceedings. In doing so he was supported not 
only by Henley, the editor, who was keenly sympathetic, but by 
Seymour Haden, though, naturally, Haden went back on him as 
soon as he heard that Whistler also was supporting J. Whistler's 
support was active. He wrote a letter to The Scots Observer con- 
demning Herkomer, who there upon, or shortly after, retired from 
the Slade Professorship, as Ruskin had previously retired when 
Whistler annihilated him, and Herkomer disappeared as an etcher. 
This took J. to Whistler's at 21 Cheyne Walk, the only time he 
was there. He remembers that the house down stairs, which was 
all he saw of it, looked as if it was just being moved into or out of. 
There were no pictures, only packing cases about, and little furni- 
8 [1885-1897 


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By Joseph Pennell 

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The print contains portraits of Walter Sickert standing, 
Brandon Thomas in top hat, Charles Whibley, Mrs Whistler, 
Miss Ethel Birnie Philip and others 
By permission of Messrs. Kennedy and Co. 

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By permission of Messrs. Kennedy and Co. 

Getting to Know Whistler 

ture. He also remembers Mr. Walter Sickert coming in and being 
promptly sent out to post a letter, for in those days Mr. Sickert 
was still one of "the Followers." 

Later, when we were all mixed up with The National Observer and 
The Pall Mall Gazette, J. used to find Whistler in Henley's rooms 
and Charles Whibley's flat — delightful evenings spent in both 
places — and also at Solferino's, the little restaurant in Rupert 
Street, where The National Observer staff and The Pall Mall crowd 
would meet and W T histler would drop in. Presently The National 
Observer men began to give themselves dinners in an upstairs room, 
Henley at the head of the table, on one side Harry Cust, editor of 
The Pall Mall, on the other Hamilton Bruce, proprietor of The 
National Observer, and up and down both sides, J., Arthur Morrison, 
George Steevens, Bob Stevenson, Charles Whibley, Charles Furse, 
J. M. Barrie, Harold Frederic. And once in a while some one, 
Barrie probably, would bring Conan Doyle, though what he was 
doing there it would be hard to say, unless it was that after a 
certain hour in the evening the diners would make bets as to which 
was Frederic and which was Doyle. Sometimes Whistler would 
appear and, as he became more intimate with Whibley, he would 
go oftener to Whibley's rooms, now on the Embankment at Mill- 
bank. There was brilliant talk and some of the things we have 
related in the Life occurred at Whibley's and at Solferino's and at 
the Hogarth Club where also Whistler occasionally went. But all 
this is vague. J. recalls with less vagueness the night Whistler 
had promised to come to a dinner at Solferino's and did not come 
on time. The others would not wait. Instead, his empty chair 
was solemnly asked, "Mr. Whistler, will you have some of this?" 
And he was served with everything from the soup, one course 
piled in the plates upon another, and his glasses were filled. At 
last he arrived — with dessert — was shown his place, took it all in, 
and, without a word, ate his cold dinner backward. Not one of 
them dared to make any comments, nor did he. He could take a 
joke among friends who were really his friends. 
During this period J. began to write a column on art signed "Artist 
Unknown," for The Star, succeeding George Bernard Shaw who gave 
it up for music, or socialism, or something or other, and at the 
same time Bob Stevenson, whom we had got to know through 
Henley and Whibley, did the art criticism for The Pall Mall 
Gazette. D. S. MacColl had just come up to London and George 
Moore was trying to chip in, writing on art for The Speaker. 
MacColl became the mouthpiece, first in The Spectator and then 
in The Saturday, for the New English Art Club and, as Whistler 
1885-1897] 9 

The Whistler Journal 

had occasionally shown with the New English, "D.S.M." reluc- 
tantly stood by him. George Moore praised and then qualified 
the praise and never understood, as Modern Painting amply 
proves. But J. believed, and Stevenson believed in Whistler's 
art always, and they wrote about it always, and soon the triumph 
came with the exhibition of Nocturnes, Marines and Chevalet Pieces 
arranged by D. Croal Thomson in 1892 at the Goupil Gallery. 
Mr. Thomson told us years later how he brought it about. The 
Carlyle had been bought for Glasgow, and shown at Goupil's where 
all London crowded to see it. Thomson, rejoicing in its success, 
said to Whistler that the time had come to make really an exhibi- 
tion. "Of what?" asked Whistler. "You know what I mean," 
was Thomson's answer, "we can't do anything with pastels and 
water colours. We have got beyond etchings and lithographs 
which have been often exhibited. It must be pictures." And 
pictures it was, and, the decision reached, Whistler spared no pains 
to get together a representative series. It began with early paint- 
ings, The Blue Wave, Old Battersea Bridge, The Music Room. It 
included the Japanese subjects. It gloried in portraits of many 
periods, from the Miss Alexander to the Lady Meux. It found a 
place for some of the most beautiful nocturnes. Never before had 
there been so magnificent a proof of Whistler's mastery and variety. 
Whistler looked in for a minute at the press view. The room was 
crowded with the critics who had come to laugh and remained to 
try to toady. There they were, Humphry Ward of The Times; 
Sala or Claude Phillips of The Telegraph — it was only a change of 
names; Wedmore of The Standard, whose critical record will re- 
main in Whistler's brown-paper-covered catalogues; Walter 
Sickert who ceased to be a "Follower" to become one of the 
"Enemies"; Stephens of The Athenceum; and all the rest. The 
enthusiasm was great, but Whistler never forgot, and the almost 
universal praise next day in the papers could not wipe out the past 
and the old empty ridicule. But on private view day Whistler, 
taking Bob Stevenson and J. away into Mr. Croal Thomson's 
little curtained-off room, said nothing about what they had done for 
the exhibition but told them that he had just heard of the death of 
the Duke of Marlborough, who had wanted to be painted by him 
and had invited him and Mrs. Whistler to Blenheim, where, the 
Duke wrote, they would " all work like niggers." " Well, you know," 
Whistler said, "I accepted the commission, the first of that sort 
I ever had, and I wrote him so — one of my charming letters — and 
now I shall never know whether my letter killed him, or whether 
he died before he got it. Well, they all want to be painted now, 
10 [1885-1897 







FOR • 



116 & 117 NEW BOND STREET 

March 21 to April 9 


Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 



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{See page 12) 

Getting to Know Whistler 

but why wouldn't they be painted years ago when I wanted to 
paint them and could have painted them just as well?" Whistler's 
comment upon the Duke's death is not unlike his complaint when, 
after one of his "most amazing letters" to Sergeant Thomas, 
his publisher, "What did Thomas do but die by return of post!" 
It is worth noting that the Duke was to have given Whistler two 
thousand guineas for the portrait which, it was agreed, would be a 
large full-length, or, if "Whistler would also paint the Duchess, 
three thousand pounds for the two portraits: — the new prices that 
the turn in the tide of his fortunes brought with it. This shows 
that the Duke of Marlborough had courage, especially as he seems 
to have shared the popular idea of Whistler, the man. "You must 
stick to painting and give up writing letters about R.A's. and 
A.R.A's.," is the condescending advice with which the letter ends. 
From the Goupil Gallery J. went on with Whistler and Bob Steven- 
son to the Arts Club, to which Whistler then belonged, to Sol- 
ferino's to dinner, then to the Savile Club of which Stevenson was 
a member, and very late they sent Whistler home in a hansom, 
wondering if he had money enough to pay for it. J. does not 
remember what he talked about all evening save that much was 
said of the new flat in Paris to which he was moving. He was 
serious, for it was a serious occasion — this moment of triumph or, 
rather, the beginning of his triumph — and he took it seriously. 
It was too serious for talk. But he knew perfectly well and proved 
that he knew, who were the two men who had helped to bring it 
about by making evident what he had done. And that afternoon 
J's. intimacy with Whistler began. 

Some months later, J. was going somewhere on the Continent and 
stopped in Paris. Whistler had not got into the flat but was stay- 
ing at the Hotel du Bon Lafontaine — "inhabited by the nobility 
and clergy," he used to say — and there J. found him drawing the 
portrait of Mallarme for the frontispiece of Vers et Prose. This 
little drawing marked a new departure in the art of lithography. 
Instead of using the sticky brittle German transfer paper, he laid 
a sheet of thin Japanese tracing paper on a rough book cover and 
drew on it, shifting the paper as he drew to get a varying grain. 
But before he got the result he wanted, he made many drawings. 
Lithographers have usually discussed the difficulties of their art, 
Whistler overcame them before he spoke of them. J. thinks it 
was that evening, when Mallarme was tired posing, that Whistler, 
gayer than ever, took J. to the little restaurant, more like an 
English chop-house with its sort of boxes, in the Passage des 
Panoramas, much haunted by Duret, Drouet, Beurdeley, Viele- 

1885-1897] 11 

The Whistler Journal 

Griffin, the last of whom alone was there that evening and it was 
the only time J. ever met the New Orleans French poet. The next 
day Whistler showed J. the new flat in the Rue du Bac. And then 
they went their ways. 

The following spring — 1893 — J. returned to Paris to make drawings 
of Notre-Dame for our book on The French Cathedrals. To the 
top of the tower Whistler toiled to find him one morning after he 
had climbed in vain to the top of the house on the Quai-des-Grands- 
Augustins, where J. was staying, drawing out of the windows, and 
where, in the cafe downstairs, Whistler wrote his disappointment 
at not finding him to J., one of his earliest letters to either of us. 
Over lunch, under the shadow of Notre-Dame, he explained that 
he wanted J. to help with his printing — he was biting and printing 
the last Paris plates which no one had seen. This was arranged, 
though only after endless postponements and after J. finally said 
that he knew Whistler could teach him just what he wanted to 
know, but he could not afford to spend his time running about 
Paris, lunching and dining instead, even with Whistler. At once 
the printing began and the friendship became more intimate and 
its terms better understood. 

For weeks in the summer of 1893, either at the printing press in 
the Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs or at the Rue du Bac, J. was 
with Whistler almost daily. Work stopped on the Sunday after- 
noons, when sometimes all the world came to Whistler's and some- 
times no one came. And there were excursions to all sorts of places, 
from St. Denis to Fontainebleau. It was the summer of the Sarah 
Brown row when the whole of Paris was upset by the students' 
rising over which everybody went mad, except Whistler who 
thought it absurd. It was the summer when Whistler signed his 
will and J, witnessed it.* And it was the summer when Beardsley 
was in Paris getting the backgrounds for The Rape of the Lock, 
and when one night, coming away from Tristan and Isolde at the 
Opera, which gave him his motive for The Wagnerites, and crossing 
the street to the Cafe de la Paix, he and J. found Whistler there 
and J. had Beardsley asked to the Rue du Bac. But this was 
before The Rape drawings were published, and Whistler's feeling 
for him was anything rather than friendly. "Why do you go with 
him?" Whistler said. "He has hairs on his hands, hairs on his 
finger ends, hairs in his ears, hairs on his toes, hairs all over him." 
Yet Whistler asked Beardsley for the next Sunday afternoon, prom- 
ised to dine with him and never turned up. 

* Note — He later made another will, a copy of which is in the Pennell Collection, 
Library of Congress, which I did not sign. 

12 [1885-1897 


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Getting to Know Whistler 

In the beginning of May E. also was in Paris, doing the two Salons. 
She has no memories of Whistler, even vague, during the years 
between 1885 and 1893 when J. was often seeing him, and she has 
no notes, her diary having long since been given up as impossible 
to fit into her busy life. It still seems strange to her why she never 
met Whistler, never so much as saw him, for she too did more than 
one weekly column on art and was much at exhibitions, galleries 
and art functions. But her first meeting was in May 1893, when 
Whistler, learning that we were in Paris, asked us both to Sunday 
breakfast in the Rue du Bac. She remembers the walk with J. 
and MacColl across the Seine and up the long street in the May 
sunshine, finding the big porte-cochere of No. no and the dark 
passage that led to the bright little courtyard, and the blue and 
white door in the sunlight at the end, and the welcome they 
received from Whistler. The breakfast was gay. Mrs. Whistler 
presided and, besides ourselves and MacColl, Mr. and Mrs. Edwin 
Abbey were there. It was the day he told us the story of the 
babies at Liverpool — which we have told in the Life — and the 
breakfast was something to remember: the beautiful blue-and- 
white, the good wine from some Abbe's cellar, the Argenteuil 
asparagus, the strawberries in a little silver basket at each 
guest's place. 

After this, E. saw Whistler often. She was never in Paris that 
she did not breakfast or dine at the Rue du Bac. She recalls 
delightfully an autumn when she arrived after two nights and a 
day in the train from Madrid, travel-worn, travel-soiled, her 
baggage on its way to England, and she was taken in as if she 
were spick and span and could treat dinner as the formal event 
Whistler always made it. And this time there was a new flat to 
see, in the Rue Garanciere, just being decorated for Mrs. Whistler's 
sister, Ethel Birnie Philip who was shortly to marry Charles 
Whibley. This was in the autumn of 1894. J. had been all spring 
and summer, first in Italy and then in Spain and for him there 
were no meetings with Whistler, who was indignant because, on 
his return from Spain, he rushed through Paris "in such improper 
haste." Whistler wanted to hear about his feelings when he 
looked at Velasquez "whom we have, you know, never seen." 
This statement of Whistler's in a letter to us demolishes all the 
ridiculous stories of his mysterious appearances in Madrid where 
he never went. 

J. was home again by the end of October, and Whistler, whenever 
in London, began to come to us in our Buckingham Street cham- 
bers. But he was not in London often until the tragedy of Mrs. 
1885-1897] 13 

The Whistler Journal 

Whistler's illness compelled him to be there. The day of her first 
consultation with her English doctor, late in 1894, E. must always 
remember, for Whistler kept her to lunch with them at Long's 
Hotel in Bond Street, where they were staying, and, in his nervous- 
ness, would not let her go afterwards while the Doctor was with 
Mrs. Whistler — would have had her still with him when the Doctor 
gave his report. 

We have already told in the Life how much he was in our place 
from this time on, when he and Mrs. Whistler were coming and 
going between London and Paris, to Lyme Regis, back again to 
London, and from one hotel to another. Almost every afternoon 
or evening he spent with us during the last months of her illness. 
It was then, when, tired from a night of watching and hardly 
refreshed by a morning of sleeping, he would come to Buckingham 
Street in the waning afternoon, that he lithographed our portraits 
by the flickering firelight. The afternoon he was making the 
lithograph of The Russian Schube, he told J. he had taken a studio 
in Fitzroy Street that he might paint the same subject. He said 
nothing to J. about this until the studio was taken, and then J. 
had to tell Whistler that he must leave for Italy. Sadly, Whistler 
said, "Well, I thought some gallery — the Pennsylvania Academy, 
what? — would have bought it and you and I might have been 
remembered by it." 

J. was somewhere in France when Mrs. Whistler died, on May 
ioth, 1896, and E. was in Paris, at the Salons. On the Saturday 
following the funeral E. returned and more than sad is her memory 
of the next day, Sunday, when in the afternoon Whistler appeared 
in Buckingham Street, and asked her to come with him- to the 
National Gallery. And sad are many of our memories of the years 
that followed, though, little by little as they passed, Whistler's 
sadness lifted. Gradually, we had the people we knew would 
amuse him to dine with him, and wonderful were the long evenings 
and the long talks. 

His days were full not only of work, but of many schemes. For 
these were the years of the founding of the International Society 
of Sculptors, Painters and Gravers, out of which some of the 
English members tried to keep J. until Whistler made it a condi- 
tion that either J. should be on the Council, or he would go. And 
so this time it was the British who went out and Whistler and J. 
remained, backed by the Scotch, the Irish, the German, the Scandi- 
navian, and the French — Guthrie, Lavery, Sauter, Thaulow, 
Blanche. The Society really was International, and they brought 
it off. And these were the years when we were all busy over the 
14 [1885-1897 






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Getting to Know Whistler 

Lithograph Case, caused by Walter Sickert and an article he wrote 
in The Saturday Review, to injure not so much J. as Whistler. 
Although Whistler was more eager for it than J., he, like the rest 
of us, was sick of it long before the trial, so sick that the morning 
before he came to say he would not attend as a witness. " The 
case is as much yours as mine, and you must come," J. said. 
"Your reputation is involved. There will be an end to your 
lithography if we lose. You must fight." And he came, and we 
won. And time was still left in these years for afternoons of work- 
ing at Way's, lingering to give a last touch to a drawing, or to 
drink a last glass of Way's rare old liqueurs — "All very delightful," 
Way would grumble, "but hardly business;" time for making 
lithographs round London, when he would go out in his flat- 
brimmed hat and long overcoat, and on the London sidewalk seat 
himself on his tiny three-legged sketching stool and work away on 
his little sheets of paper; time too for starting the school in Paris, 
the Academie Carmen, and to establish in London the Company 
of the Butterfly, which was to be his own incubator for his own 
golden eggs, but which succeeded chiefly in proving to him that 
dealers have their use. It was a nuisance to him almost to the end 
of his life, his landlord pursuing him to Corsica with bills for rent 
and complaints of the condition of the outside doorplate — the 
scheme perfect in theory, he thought, but the trouble was, he had 
no time for it. • ^p? 

One of these years — 1897 — was the year of the Jubilee, when 
Whistler went with the Vanderbilts on their yacht to the Naval 
Review and delighted all London with his drawing of Nelson 
Boarded at Last for The Daily Chronicle. 

He had begun to go out again, his first appearance in public being 
the occasion of his last encounter with Haden at a dinner given 
by the Society of Illustrators, in celebration of the publication of 
a volume illustrated by the Society, which brought them neither 
the fame nor the fortune they hoped for. It was called The London 
Garland and was edited by W. E. Henley. Both Whistler and 
Haden were Vice-Presidents of the Society, of which Sir James 
Linton was President. J. induced Whistler, then staying at Heine- 
mann's, to go to the dinner, which was at the Holborn and, being 
on the Committee, he went to the restaurant early to see about 
the seats. What was his horror when Haden suddenly arrived, 
though not expected. There was nothing to do but to put him on 
Linton's right at the high table where he belonged. But what 
was to be done with Whistler? The two had not met for probably 
half a century. A small table was arranged in the middle of the 

1885-1897] IS 

The Whistler Journal 

room and at the head of it, with his back to Haden, J. placed 
Whistler, Heinemann and ourselves on either side. Whistler's 
reception pleased him enormously, and J. kept Haden safely out 
of the way until dinner was announced. But both seemed to feel 
that something was happening, though at first neither saw the 
other. As Whistler sat down, he produced two or three eye-glasses 
from his pocket. Still, neither saw the other. The soup came. 
Some one said something to Whistler and there was a "Ha! ha!" 
Haden stopped, his spoon in his hand, dropped it in his plate, and 
fled, followed by another "Ha! ha!" and J. had to explain to Haden 
that the Committee had no idea he was coming, or he would have 
been warned. But Haden, too furious to protest, rushed away 
without a word. Whistler, even then, gave no sign that he saw 
Haden. But Haden knew the restaurant was no place for him. 
Later, that same evening, in Heinemann's rooms, when Whistler 
was brewing his wonderful grog in Heinemann's wonderful old glass, 
J. described Haden's flight and it rounded out the triumph of the 
evening. The dinner was long remembered by the illustrators who 
could appreciate the difference between the two men — "Haden 
running and Whistler staying and enjoying it," was the way E. J. 
Sullivan put it years afterwards, and he recalled Whistler's speech 
which kept us all in a state of expectation for he seemed ever on 
the point of referring to the incident, only to steer delicately 
away from it.* 

People who did not know Whistler were sometimes bewildered by 
the many glasses he produced at times from his pocket, and they 
invented ingenious reasons — none more ingenious than that of 
Armand-Dayot, Inspectetir Generate des Beaux-Arts. He and 
Albert Belleroche were breakfasting with us one day when the 
talk turned upon Whistler, whom Armand-Dayot met but once, 
at a dinner given by Mrs. Potter Palmer. He sat on her right, 
Whistler on her left, and he saw Whistler put up one eye-glass 
after another, dropping each off in turn into his right hand, as 
was his habit, and laying it on the table by his place, until there 
was quite a little pile on the cloth. He supposed, seeing this, that 
Whistler was bothered by the steam which, rising from his plate, 
clouded his glass and he preferred putting up a fresh one to wiping 
it off. 

During Whistler's frequent and long visits to Heinemann at this 
period there were other strange encounters — with Beerbohm, 
Frank Harris, Shorter, Rothenstein — how he hated Jews! En- 

* Note. — For the beginning of Whistler's quarrel with Haden, see the authorized 
Life of Whistler, sixth edition, page 75 and seq. 

16 [1885-1897 

Getting to Know Whistler 

counters too with friends when he proved his wonderful mastery 
of the art of making cocktails and toddies. And there were as 
many encounters in our flat, few more memorable than those with 
Timothy Cole, at work then in the National Gallery, his talk of 
art a challenge to Whistler, his fads and fancies a continual amuse- 
ment, his gaiety a stimulant until it culminated one night in Cole's 
masquerading as his grandfather, a misunderstanding at the front 
door, and confusion and regrets for us all. We remember J's. 
distress as host, fearing an offence to Cole, and in contrast to it 
Whistler's irresponsibility as guest, delighting in the jest and the 
mistake and J's. scruples, improvising out of it an Oratorio motive: 
"How is the old man his grandfather — the old man — the old man — 
the old man — the old man — his grandfather — his grandfather — his 
grandfather" — chanting it over and over, keeping it up until J. 
had to laugh and forget his worries. 

These were the years also of endless meetings at Garlant's Hotel 
or in our own place with Whistler and Mr. E. G. Kennedy, then 
the head of Wunderlich's — now Kennedy and Co. — and Whistler's 
agent and good friend, who had bought his etchings as far back as 
the Seventies when scarcely anybody else thought of buying them. 
The meetings in London were broken by little journeys, the gayest 
in memory to Dieppe when Boldini was with us and revealed himself 
a genius in practical jokes and a boy in the fun he got out of them: 
whispering it about the Hotel that we were Royalty, though in 
cycling clothes J. and E. must have looked curiously un-Royal; 
letting us in for apartments far beyond our means; appearing and 
disappearing from our side with remarkable agility, and profiting 
by his disappearances to make our beds pie-fashion, hide our 
combs and brushes, scatter our belongings; getting up in the night 
to knock madly at our doors and frighten us out of sleep; down 
stairs at dawn and away to Paris before our wrath over our bill, 
and his which he left Whistler to pay, could fall upon him. And 
Whistler, through all his nonsense, shrugged his shoulders, and 
Kennedy paid. 

But during these full years there were no Whistler notes, great as 
was our opportunity. 

1885-1897] i 7 



THAT there were any notes before our Whistler Journal was 
begun we owe to Robert Underwood Johnson, at the time 
Associate Editor of The Century. In the late summer of 1897 
Mr. and Mrs. Johnson passed through London and we asked 
Whistler to meet them at dinner. Our dinner-table was small, 
six the number it limited us to. But six is the best number for 
talk, and there must have been good talk that night. For Mr. 
Johnson remembered it so well that, on his return to New York a 
few months later, he wrote us from The Century Office: 

-r^ ,, -r, "December 6th, 1897. 

Dear Mrs. Pennell, 7I 

. . . And now we want to stake out another claim on your terri- 
tory. We have obtained the right to engrave Boldini's wonderful 
picture of Whistler, and we wish from you an article on him which 
shall be in the nature of a record of such of his table talk as may 
be of public interest, with all sorts of picturesque incidents of him, 
such as may not be undignified either on his part or on ours. 
Outside of the range of his whimsicality and the objectionable 
side of his career, there is a substantial and vital body of artistic 
thought and criticism which it would be useful to make known. 
It is not necessary that this article should appear during his life- 
time, and we particularly wish that the matter should not be men- 
tioned to him — at least until the article is completed; but you are 
in a position, without any violation of hospitality, to make record 
of a great deal that is interesting and properly publishable about 
his artistic life. You remember his saying the evening we were 
with you that it took the nouveaux riches a long time 'to grow up 
to the portraits we make of them.' 

Will you turn this over in your mind and let us know your attitude 
toward it? What we want to feel is that anything you may have 
to write, now or hereafter, will come to us. . . . 

Very sincerely yours, 

R. U. Johnson." 

18 [ 1 897-1 898 



By J. Boldini, Brooklyn Museum 



By Paul Helleu. Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 



Done between poses in Boldini's studio. By J. Boldini. 
In the possession of E. G. Kennedy, Esq. 

Showing the screen with Battersea Bridge made for Leyland 


By Dornac. 
(See frages 12 and 302) 

The First Idea of the Journal 

Mr. Johnson's letter reveals better than he could have realized 
what the American cultured public's feeling about Whistler still 
was, much as it had been obliged to modify its opinion about his 
work — though the American public has no opinion of its own any 
longer, thinking and saying only what it is taught or told to. To 
those who did not know him he had not ceased to be "whimsical," 
"of objectionable career," his "want of dignity" making it ques- 
tionable if reputable publications like The Century could print 
anything about him without loss of their dignity — or, more im- 
portant, their subscribers. But meeting Whistler impressed upon 
Mr. Johnson, as it was impressed upon everyone who met him, 
that the whimsicality was mythical. Mr. Johnson was struck 
with him and with all he said, and felt that the right impression 
had not been given of his personality. We agreed to do the work, 
and to make notes of the talk and we did begin to make them, 
though in halting fashion. In our affection for Whistler we hardly 
liked doing it without his knowing it. This is why these notes 
are so few. 
The first was not made until late in 1898. It is dated: 

September 25th, i8g8. A visit from Whistler early, just as we were 
settling down to work. He is depressed ever since his return to 
town, wonders that he can take no more pleasure in work, no more 
interest in the absurdities of the art critic, he will not even be 
bothered to arrange to send his lithographs to the coming show 
at South Kensington. But he at least is gay enough to report 
about the new book [The Baronet and the Butterfly] and to tell us 
two stories. The book is stupendous — ■ "Well, you know there 
was the toad I was to get as a model for the 'toad in the belly' 
to decorate the Dedication. I was to apply for one to the Zoological 
Gardens, Wimbush was to find one, but in the meanwhile Teddy 
Godwin brought one and made a drawing of it. But the thing 
died. You know, they say I starved it. They had put it in a 
paper box. Well, it must have caught a fly or two. And I thought 
toads lived in stone or amber or something for hundreds of years. 
Perhaps it was because I hadn't the amber." 

One of his stories was of Lady Donoughmore: "Well, she was 
staying with Mrs. Bradley Martin and she told it to me herself 
as an instance of American bad manners rather than in enjoyment 
1897-1898] 19 

The Whistler Journal 

of the superb humour of it. Mrs. Bradley Martin, having come 
over here and married her daughter to a title and studied the Red 
Book, had rather sized things up. And so, when Lady Donough- 
more, in a room the Duchess of something occupied the week-end 
before, found her mattress shockingly hard and complained to the 
maid and asked for another, Mrs. Bradley Martin, at her toilet 
when the maid brought the message, waved her aside with supreme 
indifference. 'What has done for a Duchess to sleep on,' she said, 
'is good enough for a Countess to rough it on!' " This recalled to 
him the other story of the typical "Aoh ah" Englishman coming 
for the first time to a Pullman car. "Aoh!" he called out, "Aoh, 
I say, how do you get in heah?" Strowb ridge, the Pullman man- 
ager in England, was passing. "Well," he said, "the common-sense 
man walks in at the door, but for the God damned fool we keep a 
ladder and he crawls in through the roof. John, fetch the ladder." 

These are the stories that Whistler loved, enjoying them in a way 
the Briton cannot grasp. The country-house week-end parties 
were an inexhaustible source of fun. About a scandal that was 
making much talk in London, his comment was, "Well, you know, 
for week-ends the rule should be to ring a loud bell at five in the 
morning, after which guests are expected to be found in no rooms 
save their own. What?" He told the story of Lady Donoughmore 
in no unkindness, for he liked her, even if her sense of humour 
sometimes failed. He met her and Lord Donoughmore often at 
Heinemann's, and we have seen the letter he wrote her after her 
husband's death, as tender a letter of condolence as we have ever 
read. "I never forget your own sweet sympathy in my deep 
sorrow," he told her, "and Donoughmore's kind hand upon my 
shoulder when again we met." 

The exhibition at South Kensington was the Centenary Exhibition 
of Lithography organized by the British Government, and J., who 
was on the Royal Committee, was anxious for Whistler to make 
a fine showing. 

The Baronet and the Butterfly was dedicated to those members of 
the New English Art Club who were too afraid to lose favour 
with Sir William Eden, the rich man and the art patron, to back 
Whistler in his second fight for art for the artists' sake. He did 
not let them off lightly. For months they dreaded to go to their 
usual haunts, where Whistler had a way of turning up unexpectedly 

20 [1897-1898 


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By permission of Messrs. Kennedy and Co. 


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By permission of Messrs. Kennedy and Co. 

The First Idea of the Journal 

and taunting them with the toad in their belly and the throes of 
indigestion that came of it. Teddy Godwin who found the model 
for the toad was his step-son. E. J. Sullivan, talking over the 
affair some years afterwards, recalled Whistler's sending a wire 
to the Chelsea Club when he won the Eden case, asking them how 
they liked the toad, which Sullivan thought rubbing it in, con- 
sidering that Whistler used to come down there often and empty 
the place. J. remembers Wilson Steer one day saying what was 
the use of coming to the Club any longer to get kicked. Sullivan 
also recalled an occasion when MacColl tackled Whistler, who 
was in his best form, and every time MacColl would try and get 
in a word, Whistler would put an eyeglass on the table and say 
"And" — and this would come out with such mock strenuousness 
that MacColl never got a chance to say anything, and Whistler 
had it all his own way. Nor was it only the artists who feasted on 
the toad. When he asked us to collect certain facts from dealers 
as evidence in the Eden Case, he warned us of one dealer because 
'You know — well — I believe the Baronet sends him game." 
One evening just after Whistler's death, Lavery told us the end 
of Whistler's membership in the Chelsea Arts Club. 

July igth, 1903. Lavery said that a couple of years ago, when 
the Chelsea Club moved into their new house, and he made him- 
self largely responsible financially for it, the question of Whistler's 
membership came up. Whistler had not paid his subscription for 
some years, but at the Council (or Committee?) meeting, Lavery 
urged that such a distinguished artist, moreover an original mem- 
ber of the Club, without whom, indeed, the Chelsea Club would 
not have been, should be made an Honorary Member. But he 
was told it would be the ruin of the Club; Steer and others would 
resign — they did not want him about the Club. After the meeting, 
Lavery went to Steer and asked him point blank, if it was so — 
Steer blushed, was confused, said there was a mistake. However, 
Whistler was not elected, and Lavery, having taken over so much 
responsibility, did not resign at once, as he wanted to. The men 
would have said he was taking advantage of the dispute over the 
Honorary Membership to shirk it. 

It is hard to explain why, but having started to make notes of 
Whistler, a few days later E. was making one of a visit from Fred- 
erick Sandys, the great illustrator of the Sixties, friend and enemy 
1897-1898] 21 

The Whistler Journal 

of the Pre-Raphaelites, her only note of his many visits to us 
at this period. We would give much now had we written at the 
time an account of how he and Whistler met one afternoon in 
Buckingham Street after years of not meeting anywhere. The 
trouble between them, Sandys said afterwards to Mr. Kyllman 
(of Constable's), was that he remonstrated with Whistler about 
The Peacock Room, and that Whistler resented it, which is more 
than likely. He then went on to describe their meeting. When, 
as he sat with us, he heard the knock, "no one but Whistler would 
knock like that," he said to himself, and he grew nervous — as we 
well remember. But Whistler, he added, was charming, so charm- 
ing that that same year he invited Sandys to dine with him, "and 
we will get Joe Pennell," he wrote. We give E's. note as it is, 
for he told us many things we had never heard before and have 
never heard since, and they concern a group of Whistler's earliest 
friends in London. We must not be held responsible for Sandy's 
facts or criticisms. For all his dignity of demeanor and suave 
solemnity of speech, he was suspected of being a bit of a Mun- 
chausen. That was why he was amusing. 

October 3rd, i8g8. Sandys came in early in the afternoon, a little 
after two. J. had to leave almost at once for a Committee Meeting 
at South Kensington for the Lithograph Show. But Sandys 
stayed on until half past six, and talked steadily the whole after- 
noon. It was like listening to, instead of reading, a book of 
memoirs. He told one story after another, so that it would be 
hopeless to try and remember them all. J's. connection with the 
coming Exhibition of Lithographs at South Kensington and the 
fact that Sandys' Nightmare [the parody of Millais' Sir Isumbras 
at the Ford] is to be shown started him talking about it. He thought 
our impression was one of ten printed on India paper, but, looking 
at it more closely, he found it was not. He hardly knew whether 
it could be called a lithograph. It was done partly with a brush, 
partly with a pen, on zinc with some sort of ink brought to him 
by a man who patented the method. It was out five days after 
the Academy opened [the Royal Academy of 1857 in which Millais 
showed his Sir Isumbras] and three hundred were sold the first 
week and then the man disappeared with the plate and has never 
been heard of since. Naturally, Sandys had not much time. The 
22 [ 1 897-1 898 

The First Idea of the Journal 

only way he got a glimpse of Rossetti, whom he did not then know, 
was by asking for an introduction from a friend and going with it 
to Chatham Place to see Rossetti's pictures. Rossetti came to 
the door, said he was sorry but he was busy with a man who was 
buying things — would Sandys come again? — and Sandys, from 
that one glimpse, made the portrait. The drawing won him 
Rossetti's friendship. Millais did not mind it. Holman Hunt 
was indignant. But the furious person was Ruskin's father who 
wanted to prosecute him. However, the print had been published 
anonymously and for a long while no one knew who did it. Old 
Ruskin, breakfasting with Smith, the publisher, offered him five 
hundred pounds if he would find out the author of the caricature. 
Millais, he describes as beautiful as a god in his youth. Sandys 
had won a Silver Medal at the Society of Arts for water-colours 
of birds, and then had to come up to London and, at their place 
in John Street, make drawings of the same kind to prove they 
were his work. He was left in a room with Millais, who had won 
a Gold Medal and was also being put to the test. People who came 
in looked at Millais' painting and went away whispering "astound- 
ing genius," but never looked at Sandys who was copying a pigeon 
brought from a near market. Sandys was awfully nervous. 
Millais was full of confidence in himself — not conceit, but certainty 
of what he could do. He encouraged Sandys — "that's all right," 
he said of the drawing of the feathers, "it's the feet you have to 
look out for," which Sandys thought showed wonderful insight 
for a youth of Millais' age — the feet being the difficult thing. 
Later on, he tried to reunite Millais and Rossetti, who did not 
see each other because Rossetti was hurt at Millais' not having 
suggested his name for the Royal Academy when there was the 
chance. Sandys asked Rossetti to dinner, saying Millais was to 
be there, and Rossetti would not come. Then Sandys asked him 
without telling him, and Rossetti came, and the two were friends 
again at once. Millais begged to be asked to the studio to see 
Rossetti's pictures and asked Rossetti to come and see his children 
— he had some very pretty children, he said. But Rossetti never 
went and never asked Millais to come to him and so they lost 
1897-1898] 23 

The Whistler Journal 

sight of each other again — Rossetti was cruelly misrepresented by 
William Michael Rossetti, Sandys thought, for he was really the 
most abstemious of men — knew so little of wine that, having tasted 
a "bishop" of ordinary claret warmed with spices, wanted to make 
one of fine old Madeira worth about two or three pounds a bottle 
that some one had given him. Sandys was shocked and would 
not allow it. 

Sandys went once with Rossetti, Swinburne and George Meredith 
to Hampton Court, and between Waterloo and Hampton Court 
Station each one of the three wrote a poem. He remembered 
Swinburne's in particular because it was Faustine written to see 
how many rhymes he could find to the name. He also was with 
Swinburne and Meredith when they had their final quarrel. 
They had just been reconciled after another quarrel and were 
dining amiably at the Garrick Club. It was when Meredith was 
editing The Fortnightly Review for John Morley, then in America. 
Meredith had recently sent Swinburne ten pounds for a poem. 
After dinner, Swinburne asked Meredith why he sent ten pounds? 
Meredith explained he was paying all contributors during Morley's 
absence. "Yes," said Swinburne, "but why ten?" Meredith 
explained it was what he usually got for his own poems. "Yes, 
for yours," said Swinburne, "but for mine?" Meredith tried to 
point out the justice of it: what was enough for him was enough 
for Swinburne. Swinburne got up, came over to him, and slapped 
his face. That was the end of their friendship. Sandys defended 
Swinburne and said he was not half so drunken as his reputation. 
His strong intellect kept him from showing, or perhaps feeling, 
the effect of drink as others did. As an example — one evening, 
while living with Rossetti, he was very drunk, at the stage when 
he saw two candles where there was really but one. After dinner 
William Michael Rossetti came in with Walt Whitman's Leaves 
of Grass, the first copy brought to England. Swinburne was eager 
to read it, but when he opened the volume he saw two Leaves of 
Grass. He just clapped a hand over one eye, and with the other 
eye saw distinctly and then read easily. 

Loud in praise of Meredith as a brilliant talker. He was wonderful, 
24 [1 897-1 898 






Head cut from the large painting, The Toast, 

Freer Collection, National Museum, Washington 

The First Idea of the Journal 

though at the expense of his friends. Often had three or four 
friends dining with him on Sunday and, if the humour seized him, 
would select one of the company and dissect him for the benefit of 
the others. It was like taking a butterfly, pinning it, still alive, 
to the wall and examining every quivering detail. This lost him 
many friends, was the reason for his quarrel with Rossetti. He 
was living in the Chelsea house. Some of Rossetti's patrons had 
come to dinner and Meredith chose this occasion to make sport of 
Rossetti. The result was Rossetti turned him out. 
The first quarrel with Swinburne was because Meredith put him 
unmistakably, as a red-haired poet, into one of his novels. Swinburne 
did not appreciate it. The novel was Emilia 'in England, or something 
of the sort, and now has another name [Sandra Belloni]. Meredith 
was always going through different philosophical or social or religious 
phases. One day he announced he was a socialist. Sandys asked 
him if he followed Morris or Crane? Neither, Meredith said. All 
men who thought must, at one time or another, pass through a stage 
of socialism; of course, it was impossible to say how long he would 
remain a socialist. He had been, he added, everything in his time 
save, lowering his voice, a curate. Lowell, after lunching with 
Meredith at the house of Mrs. Lawrence, where Meredith as usual 
talked in a loud, vibrant voice, said he had been thinking all through 
lunch of the Bible. "But why?" asked Sandys. "Because," Lowell 
explained, "in the Bible we read of the still, small voice of God." 
Sandys once took two Americans down to see Meredith. They 
arrived in the morning, Meredith met them, and from the moment 
they were on the platform until he drove them back at ten o'clock 
at night, he never once stopped talking. 

Ruskin, Sandys said, treated Lady Millais when she was Mrs. Ruskin 
abominably. He was not brutal, he never reproved her. But he 
kept a diary, and every Monday morning he had her up before him 
and read her a list of all her misdemeanors for every day in the 
past week. 

Sandys' caricature of Millais' picture is now well known. It was 
forgotten for a while — as, indeed, was Sandys — but when, in the 
1 897-1 898] 25 

The Whistler Journal 

Nineties, interest was revived by J. inthework of the Sixties, which 
he called "The Golden Age of Illustration," the title soon borrowed 
by Gleeson White and others both here and abroad for their own 
use, the print re-appeared and was reproduced in many articles. 
For long it hung on our Buckingham Street walls. The Ruskin 
family objected to it because Ruskin was drawn as an ass with /. R. 
Oxon branded on his rump. He carried a great big Millais in armour 
on his back, a little Rossetti in his arms, a smaller Holman Hunt 
hanging on behind, and a still smaller Titian and Michael Angelo 
chanting Or a pro nobis on the further shore. 

Holman Hunt, of whom at one time we saw a good deal, as we met 
all the Pre-Raphaelites except Rossetti, was most interesting when 
you got him away from his work to talk about himself. When he 
talked about anybody else or about his paintings, he was an awful 
old bore. J. remembers going down to the studio, in Fulham to see 
The Shadow of the Cross being fixed up, and Holman Hunt's saying 
that it took him three weeks or three days to paint one of the shavings 
on the floor. "H'm," Whistler laughed when J. told him later, " some 
people could have done it better in three minutes, and then wouldn't 
have said anything about it!" 

Except in Sandys' story, we know of no medal won by Millais at the 
Society of Arts except a Silver Medal awarded him when he was 
nine years old. No wonder Sandys was struck by the insight of so 
youthful a critic. In the Life of Millais by his son, the reason for 
his quarrel with Rossetti is not given. Only the discreet fact is stated 
that after 1852 Millais seldom saw Rossetti. 

If we are not mistaken, Swinburne's account of how Faustine came to 
be written is rather different from Sandys'. And we can hardly 
believe that Swinburne could have been much annoyed by "Tracy 
Runningbrook," the poet in Sandra Belloni. The parody upon his 
name is not offensive as Dr. Furnival's "Pigsbrook" was, and the 
poet, with hair red as a blown flame and a way of coining words, is 
as unobjectionable as^ his name. But Meredith's letters show there 
was friction between Swinburne and himself over The Fortnightly 
rate of payment during Meredith's editorship, and certainly the two 
men did not see each other for years. Sandys' story, so far as this 
goes, may be true. 

His version of Meredith's quarrel with Rossetti is virtually the same 
we had from W T histler, according to whom it occurred the evening 
Swinburne was reading Leaves of Grass and the wombat was devour- 
ing Rossetti's cigars — altogether an eventful evening. Whistler 
gave Mrs. Clifford Addams other details which we do not remember 
hearing from him. There had been a disagreement between Meredith 
26 [1897- 1 898 

The First Idea of the Journal 

and Rossetti, and Meredith had gossipped about it to a cabman at 
the corner, and this came to Rossetti who was furious. They were 
all dining together that evening, Whistler and Howell too. The meat 
was served and Rossetti began — he was the more indignant because, 
so Whistler told Mrs. Addams, the others had no money at the time 
and were living there practically as his guests. He declared that 
people who could talk that way to cabmen were no gentlemen, and 
in his rage he brought down his spoon hard into the dish, and the 
gravy squirted right into Whistler's eye. And Meredith got up and 
left the house and the table and never came back. But it made no 
difference in his friendliness to Whistler. Almost half a century 
later, after reading our Life, he wrote to Heinemann, " It shows him 
as I knew him, a perfectly genial soul." 

It is a pity that Edmund Gosse, William Michael Rossetti and Wil- 
liam Meredith never consulted Sandys, a greater pity that E. did 
not make more notes of his talk. It was this sort of thing we used 
to listen to daily and rarely put down. Those who pretended to 
write about the Pre-Raphaelites may have heard it, but they never 
dared to print it. These big men, as we saw them or heard of them, 
were perfectly human. Their biographers have mostly made them 
into pompous prigs. Mr. Luke Ionides could tell, and did tell us 
in 1906 and 1907, almost as many stories as Sandys, for the house 
of his father, Constantine Ionides, was a meeting place for them 
all. One of his stories was of Burne-Jones and himself going to a 
country fair and wandering into a side show to see a tattooed lady, 

September 2ph, igo6 — with he was afraid to say how many sub- 
jects tattooed on her — on one knee the American Eagle, on the other 
the Union Jack, to symbolize the understanding there should be among 
nations, and on her back, Leonardo's Last Supper. And she really 
was amazing and they enjoyed it hugely. Some four or five years 
afterwards, in London, Burne-Jones burst in upon Ionides and told 
him the same tattooed lady was at the Aquarium and they must 
go and see her again. And they went, and she had grown very stout 
in the meanwhile and when they looked at the Last Supper, all the 
apostles wore a broad grin. Another story was of Rossetti and 
William Morris. Rossetti was never in sympathy with Morris' Norse 
studies and sagas, and once when Morris was reciting the adventures 
of one of his Norse heroes, Rossetti interrupted to say he didn't 
think much of a man who had a dragon or a serpent for a brother. 
"I had a great deal rather have a dragon for a brother," Morris 
1 897-1 898] 27 

The Whistler Journal 

roared, "than a damned fool!" A third story was of Swinburne 
at his Club on one of those evenings of which his biographers prefer 
not to write. As he stumbled out he lifted up his cane and 
knocked down all the hats hanging up in the hall — or, in a variation 
of the tale, tried on each hat in turn and when it did not fit, threw 
it on the floor and jumped on it. The Club expelled him and many 
felt it an outrage that the author of Laus Veneris and Atalanta should 
be so treated. Whistler, and several members with him, resigned. 
Other authorities say that Whistler did not resign but allowed his 
membership to lapse, forgot all about it, came back the next evening, 
ordered something to drink, and paid for it. The following morning 
the Secretary returned the money, regretting that no one not a 
member could order and pay for anything. Excellence in billiards 
rather than distinction in art was then the chief qualification for 
membership in the art clubs of London. 

A characteristic story of Sandys himself, we had from Mr. Hartrick: — 
July 20th, 1003. Whistler at Sandys' studio met Sandys' father — 
curled, white-waistcoated, and wonderful in every way. Sandys asked 
the old gentleman, "Will you have a glass of port, father?" "Well, 
Fred, I don't mind if I do!" and Sandys searched elaborately in a cup- 
board^" Strange, there does not seem to be any port, will you have 
some brandy, father?" "Well, Fred, I don't mind if I do!" Another 
search, "Strange, I can't find the brandy. Will gin do father?" 
"Why, yes, Fred." And Sandys called the slavey. "Run and get a 
pen'orth of gin." Then the father, as elaborately, got out a cigar 
case with two cigars in it, offered it to Whistler who refused, then 
to Sandys who took one. The old gentleman put the other back in 
his pocket elaborately, got out his knife and handed it to Sandys, 
"Do you know which end to cut off, Fred?" 

We insert here a much later note by E., because it relates to one of 
this group of artists, giving a pleasant glimpse of the friendly side 
of Millais. 

January 21st, 1905. Lunching with Mrs. John Lane. I sat next to 
Miss Millais, who said she had one or two letters Whistler wrote to 
28 [1897-1898 

' ! 



Whistler's Hat, worn in Paris and on journey to 




|^«/ /f' 


f~%^J^^^^f^ : ^''--^M 





Y v" 4 '' 

i --' 

1 ■■ 1 




Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

(See £age 49) 



Attributed to Whistler. By permission of 
A. E. Gallatin, Esq. 



Freer Collection National Museum, Washington 

The Whistler School 

her aunt which she would let us see. She was not sure if those to 
her father were preserved, but she would find out. Her father had 
been fond of Whistler whom he was often able to help when Whistler 
got into trouble from lending money to his friends, or from other 
things. She went with him once to call on Whistler in the White 
House. It was a moment of difficulties, and when they rang the 
door was on the chain and cautiously opened. No one could come in, 
they were told. But Millais said he was a friend of Whistler's — it 
made no difference — the door was closed. However, they walked 
up and down the street in front of the house and, after a while, they 
saw Whistler peeping out of a window. Then they were let in. They 
saw nothing of Whistler after he was married. Somehow, her mother 
never called on Mrs. Whistler and so they never met. But Whistler 
came to inquire after her father during his illness. 

There are only two more Whistler notes in 1898. The first is dated: 
Tuesday, October nth, i8g8. Mr. Armstrong of Bristol was to dine 
with us. A few minutes to seven Payne arrives from Whitehall 
Court, saying Mr. Whistler wants to know, are we at home? and may 
he come and dine? I send word, yes, we shall be delighted — but — 
we are expecting a friend, we have said seven is the hour, and dinner 
will be ready then, and I do not want to keep it waiting, though we 
may be a little late as J. has been detained. At half past seven, a 
note saying letters to Paris will keep him, cannot possibly get here 
till eight, and so will not come to dinner, but will look in later. I 
write that we are only just sitting down, won't he come? As we are 
eating our fish, messenger returns to say he will be with us in a 
quarter of an hour. He comes with the coffee, eats his warmed-up- 
dinner without a murmur, finds out that Mr. Armstrong belongs to 
the British Artists — he is enchanted — it was most delightful for him, 
he tells us afterwards, but not sure how Mr. Armstrong felt, sitting 
face to face with him. 

He tells us how he happened to join the Society . . . Mr. Armstrong 
told the story of the Carlyle portrait, which Whistler said was founded 
more or less on fact. . . . He talked to us again about the American- 
Spanish war. . . . 
I897-I898] 29 

The Whistler Journal 

Whistler was staying that autumn with Heinemann at Whitehall 
Court only a few minutes from Buckingham Street, and when he was 
there Payne, Heinemann's valet, often appeared with just such a 
message. It must be said for Whistler that if he was late to dinner, 
and our hour of seven was distasteful to him, he gave no trouble 
when he came. He was fastidious about his dinner, but when he 
knew the fault was his, he ate his warmed-up dishes as if he liked 
them. His friends — friends to whom he went intimately and infor- 
mally — understood this. Mrs. Alan S. Cole has often laughed with 
us over the way she managed to please him. Her cook got to 
know that if he had sardines and an egg done in a little casserole 
and, above all, plenty of bread and butter directly in front of him, he 
was content. The details of the talk which make this an unusually 
long note we have not given because we used them in the Life. The 
British Artists, Carlyle, the Spanish-American War, were subjects he 
never tired of. 

Thursday, October 13th, i8q8. Edgar Wilson and Fernald — The Cat 
and the Cherub — were dining with us. Whistler had said vaguely he 
might come. I had a place put for him, but I expected him so little 
that I did not wait a minute after dinner was ready. At twenty 
minutes past eight, in he walked, just as we were finishing, smiling, 
imperturbable, eating as leisurely as if five people were not waiting 
for him. Again he told us of the magnificence of the war, and the 
chivalry. And to Edgar Wilson, whom he had never met before, 
he was as kind as it seems to me he is above all to young artists 
starting out in life. The talk of the evening was chiefly upon the 
fact that there can be no progress in art though there may be in 
the knowledge of art. It was the old discussion of many evenings, 
especially the evening Iwan Muller and Van Dyke were dining 
with us: "Art," Whistler declared, "is as exact as science." 

The evening referred to was in the earlier noteless days. Van Dyke 
is Mr. John C. Van Dyke, whom Whistler was always glad to 
meet, and Iwan Muller was a journalist, assistant editor of The 
Pall Mall Gazette in the first years of Astor's proprietorship, after- 
wards leading writer on The Daily Telegraph, and approved of by 
Whistler because of his Russian father, though in everything but 
looks he was as English as if he were trying to live down his 
Russian ancestry. Mr. Van Dyke has recorded in a chapter on 

30 [1897-1898 

The Whistler School 

Whistler, in American Painting and Its Tradition, one event of 
the evening, but not its most memorable: Iwan Muller's descrip- 
tion of the brilliancy of Northern colour, his own desire to listen, 
and Whistler's hopeless boredom with it, only waking up when the 
subject was changed to art as a science, which engrossed him more 
and more as time went on and often kept us hours round the table 
in the Buckingham Street dining-room. 

Air. Fernald, dining with us about a fortnight after Whistler's 
death, spoke to us of his meeting with Whistler on this occasion. 
He said as many have said, that he owed his one glimpse of Whistler 
to us, and a wonderful glimpse it was. For Whistler talked of 
art. Art was always the same; there could be no change; art was 
eternal; a theory he only half understood until now that he was 
reading the Ten O'Clock. And again four years later, again dining 
with us, he recalled the day he met Whistler in our flat as one of 
the days that stand out in his life. He spoke to Whistler of Japan- 
ese art and its influence on Western art, and Whistler explained 
that this influence meant the carrying on of tradition, not a revolu- 
tion in Western art, for art is unchangeable. Whistler was the 
first to admit its influence upon his work. Not that his work had 
been changed by it; always, he insisted, his work was the same, in 
the beginning as in the end. 


Friday, July 14th, i8qq. About half an hour before dinner, to 
which we had asked Kennedy and young Irving Clark, Kennedy 
arrived to say that Whistler was in town and would we dine with 
him instead? It was too late — we suggested their both coming 
here to dinner or coming in afterwards. But they put in 
no appearance. 

Mr. E. G. Kennedy, when in London stayed at Garlant's where 
Whistler stayed, and was much with him as will be seen. O'K., 
Whistler mostly called him, we never knew why until Mr. Kennedy 
explained a few months ago. He had been talking of his name 
and its variations to Mrs. Whistler, and of the O'Kennedys who 
had vanished because they didn't owe anyone anything any more. 
But Mrs. Whistler said if that was true he was an O'Kennedy, he 
always owed them something, and "O'K. it shall be from now on." 
1 899-1 900] 31 


The Whistler Journal 

And so, it became his familiar name, not only for Mrs. Whistler, 
but for us all, and as O'K. he will often appear in these pages. 
Irving Clark is our cousin who was in London on his way home 
from exciting adventures ia the Balkans. 

Saturday, July 15th. Whistler arrived early, just after J. had 
gone out: gay, alert, in an irreproachable new suit, with a "dandy" 
straw hat. He was astonished to find himself here. How, indeed, 
was it possible to consider a relative when there was question of 
going to him? 

His talk was chiefly of the school. "It is amazing. It grows more 
amazing with every day. No one knows what is being done there. 
Really, I am amazed myself when I see it all. And, you know, 
this is the proper moment to make the world see what is going on, 
and you surely are the person to do it. I have been thinking it 
over. I would not care to have it come from me — it would not 
answer. But it has occurred to me that Miss Bate is just now in 
London on her way from Paris, why should there not be a talk 
with Miss Bate? What more appropriate? Miss Bate, the Massi- 
ere, whose painting has already astonished the world at the Inter- 
national?" I told him I knew nothing of interviewing. But he 
thought "Something charming can be done, without its being 
necessarily in the form of an interview." — 

About four o'clock he reappeared, beaming. He was on the way 
to the station, to go to the Heinemann's at Weybridge, but he had 
stopped to tell us. "Really, it has been beautiful. I know you 
will enjoy it — it occurred to me in the morning — the Baronet's 
sale to-day. . . - " 

The Baronet was Sir William Eden. The story of the sale, as 
Whistler gave it, is in the Life. 

Though E. told Whistler that she knew nothing of interviewing, 
she did eventually write something about the Academie Carmen. 
But she put it off too long and the article never appeared. When 
she was in Paris, Whistler arranged for her to visit the school, and 
she has memories of its seclusion in the Passage Stanislas and of 
its calm. She had never seen anything like the absorption in their 
work of the women in the life class, and the model, posing for the 
32 [ 1 899-1900 

The Whistler School 

nude on the throne against quiet grey draperies, was exactly like 
a Whistler, needing but a frame to complete the illusion. It helped 
her to understand better Whistler's Propositions which, in Duret's 
translation, hung upon the wall. Miss Inez Bate, now Mrs. Clifford 
Addams, wrote, at Whistler's request, the record of his school and 
his methods and allowed us to print it in the Life. The world 
would be the richer if the students of other great masters had 
written so authentic a report of their schools and systems. Hers 
is more valuable than any interview by E. could have been. But 
after it was published it was criticised by some of Mrs. Addams' 
fellow students — by the few who remained faithful for, as always, 
there were exceptions. Mrs. Graham Shaw, Miss Halliday, and 
one or two others objected that Mrs. Addams was too sweeping 
in her version of the closing of the school and the dwindling of the 
students. They were loyal and thought their loyalty too should 
have recognition. Out of the school came two or three who dis- 
tinguished themselves, a good record for any art school that runs 
so short a time; the average art student goes to a master only to 
acquire his knowledge of a lifetime in ten minutes. Therefore it 
cannot be said that the Academie Carmen was altogether a failure. 
But the exceptions were few, the majority of students were dis- 
appointed for the reason that they ought never to have been 
students. As Miss Dixon who was there said, it was astonishing 
how many women came at first simply because they had heard so 
much about W T histler and wanted to see him. An English woman, 
who crossed the Channel purposely to have a look at him, lived 
in the Champs-Elysees, drove to the studio in her carriage, and 
stayed for three weeks though she had paid for three months. 
Women journalists hoped to make good copy out of the classes. 
It was a distress to Whistler to have to consider the work of such 
people, and they were gradually weeded out. His health interfered 
with his attendance. And in the end only the loyal stayed on 
until they were dismissed. The notes for the spring of 1899 reveal 
the activity of his interest in the school and his high ambitions 
for it as long as he was well. 

Sunday, July 16th. Whistler came to supper. Harry Wilson and 
Irving Clark here and later Kennedy. Whistler at first inclined 
to be quiet and grumpy. He had gone to Heinemann's. " Some one 
said, 'Have a hot bath before dinner.' The very thing, I thought, 
and then, after dinner, we sat out on the lawn, and I have come 
back to town with a cold, and now I am going to be ill." But he 
1 899- 1 900] 33 


The Whistler Journal 

forgot his cold when he found that Wilson the night before had dined 
with Mr. Sydney Morse, and that Mr. Morse was the unknown or 
unremembered friend upon whose arm yesterday he entered Chris- 
tie's in triumph. He told the story of the Eden sale again. . . 
He said he met Sargent at the station, going to Weybridge, Sargent 
on his way to Sir George Lewis'. They had a compartment to 
themselves, to Sargent's intense discomfiture. "I told him the 
whole story, you know, interspersing it with 'of course, you under- 
stand!' and 'of course, you sympathize!' and Sargent looked 
hopelessly at door and window. Not that Sargent is not charming 
and all that — only, a sepulchre of dulness and propriety." Later, 
some one was talking of Rossetti. "Rossetti," he said, "well, you 
know, not a painter, but a gentleman and a poet. As for the 
others dangling after him, with them it was all incapacity and 
crime." After supper Wilson and J. sat with him on one side of 
the room and held a sort of impromptu Committee Meeting on 
International affairs. 

Harry Wilson is the distinguished English artist — architect, 
painter, jeweler, sculptor, manager, author — a man of many 
sides — now President of the Arts and Crafts Exhibition Society. 
Sydney Morse is his brother-in-law, a well-known solicitor, who 
in the old days rented No. 2 Lindsey Row when Whistler moved 
out of it into the White House. The coincidence of meeting Wilson 
the day after the Eden sale and getting from him the effect of his 
presence there was precisely one of the little things that, as he 
said, Providence sometimes sent him, and the imprudent bath at 
Heinemann's was forgotten and the illness cured before it came. 
Morse is also the owner of the Cabinet of the Owl and the Cabinet 
episode. All that summer and the next too, Sargent was much in 
Whistler's talk. He had no dislike for Sargent. On the contrary 
he held him in great friendliness. We have seen letters in which he 
wrote with unmistakable feeling of his admiration and gratitude 
when Sargent went out of his way for him in connection with the 
decoration of the Boston Library — "rare and noble camaraderie" 
were his words. But the excessive praise of Sargent, then the 
fashion, got on his nerves, just as the unintelligent criticism of 
Louis Stevenson got on Henley's. How he felt can be gathered 
from something he said to Clifford Addams, from whom we heard 

34 [ i 899-1 900 




f "« %' '%■ 

... rm 

fit i;i.;; ~. ftsfrw.! 

g ■ — - i v- . is 




By Joseph Pennell 
Whistler lived in the houses at each end of the Row. 

(See page so) 



Used as invitation card to Thomas's Exhibition of Etchings 

The Whistler School 

it later. Addams had been admiring the realistic painting of 
diamonds in one of Sargent's portraits. "Yes," Whistler said, 
"and the loaf of bread and bottle of wine on the restaurant sign 
you could recognize for what they are half a square away, but you 
do not praise them for all that — before the smallest thing ever done 
by Hals (to whose lesser work Addams had compared Sargent's) 
you could take off your hat and bow the knee." Whistler praised 
Sargent's work when he thought it good. An example of this we 
had another day from Mrs. Clifford Addams, whom he told that 
when he saw Sargent's painted and modelled Crucifixion for the 
Boston Library at the Royal Academy, he wrote immediately to 
Sargent to say how fine it was. Sargent understood. He is reported 
to have said that there was more talent in Whistler's little finger 
than in his whole body, and to us he wrote of a letter from Whistler 
which he regretted not having kept because it was "a generous 
recognition of something he considered friendly on my part 
and would have been a record of feelings that he is not often 
credited with." 

Monday, July i/th. Whistler came to arrange to bring Miss 
Bate to tea on Tuesday afternoon that we might have the talk. 
He asked who the youth last night was. "Well, entirely too 
appreciative, you know. Why, he laughed as if he were in it 
all and understood." 

Tuesday, July 18th. Whistler came with Miss Bate to tea, then 
left us to talk, which Miss Bate did exhaustively. It was inter- 
esting to find how absorbed she is in Whistler. She can see 
nothing outside of Whistler. Even the Old Masters do not count 
for much to the student. One enjoys them, one does not need them. 
Before she went to Whistler she learned nothing. She studied with 
Cormon. She was in despair. As soon as she heard that Whistler 
was to visit the Academie Carmen, she rushed back to Paris from 
Belgium. At once, it was another thing. He taught her to see — 
he taught her that to create something beautiful was the end and 
object of art. It was a revelation. She saw things differently. 
There was no question of her enthusiasm. All the students did 
not understand him — they thought they were learning nothing 
because he never bothered about composition in the usual way. 
1 899- 1 900] ^s 

The Whistler Journal 

These students left and went back to other studios. But those 
who were serious and in earnest stayed on. 

Wednesday, July, igth. Whistler sent word he was ill in bed. 
J. went at noon. Then he sent and asked me to come later — he 
wanted to hear about the talk. He was sprightly for an invalid. 
"Everything," he said, "is to prove that Art is the Science of the 
Beautiful — the Science, as I have always insisted. It was Knowl- 
edge the Old Masters had, exact Knowledge. The modern painter 
has a few tricks, a few fads; these give out and nothing is left. 
But knowledge is inexhaustible, and Titian was painting in as 
masterly a manner in his last years as in his youth." He gave me 
the last set of Propositions as he has issued them for his pupils, 
re-printed from The Gentle Art, those in which it is explained that 
flesh should be low in tone. And he hinted at some wonderful 
departure in his school — some wonderful apprentice system. It 
was like him that, though on Monday he declared he would not 
go to the International Meeting, yesterday when he came to tea 
he was wavering. He had half a mind to go towards the end of 
the meeting. "Do you think Joseph would like it if I did?" And 
he went, and heard so much of the financial difficulties and mis- 
understandings that, when J. was with him to-day, he wrote a 
long letter to the Committee, summing up the difficulties and sug- 
gesting a way out of them. 

Thursday, July 20th. Whistler appeared in the morning in white 
trousers and waistcoat, jaunty black sack coat, straw hat — very 
"dandy" — on his way to see Miss Bate. "Well, you know, you'll 
be hearing wonderful things shortly, pupils articled, what? Why 
should I bring my pupils to a certain point, and then have them 
go back to other studios?" 

Friday, July 21st. Whistler in bed again and we did not see him. 
But Miss Bate came to show us the wonderful legal document 
which apprentices her to him for five years in the old fashion. 
She is not to show or sell any work without his permission; she is 
to help him in his work if he wants; she is to be in all things sub- 
36 [ 1 899-1900 


The Whistler School 

missive; while he binds himself to teach and to train her. It was 
the old legal form; the only clause left out was one that forbade 
the apprentice to marry during her years of apprenticeship. The 
whole document was charmingly expressed — just the stately 
language to please Whistler, and with next to no punctuation from 
beginning to end. Miss Bate was impressed. She felt the distinc- 
tion of her position, especially as I think she fancies, though she 
does not say so, that there will be no other student found to con- 
sent to the same terms. Later, Mrs. Whibley came to read over 
the letter to the International Committee. 

Whether there were any female apprentices in the past, we are 
not sure. But at the Academie Carmen, Miss Bate had no rival 
except Mr. Clifford Addams, whom she married. Talking of the 
apprenticeship several years after Whistler's death, her memories 
were of his pleasure in it. The day the papers were drawn up, they 
celebrated the occasion by a lunch at the Cafe Royal, when he 
told her he would make her the greatest woman artist there had 
ever been — Rosa Bonheur had seen things curiously, with dulness, 
Madame Vigee le Brun had not known how to draw — but if she 
left herself in his hands and did as he said, he would make her 
greater than any. His enthusiasm was wonderful. He always 
said the thing he could not teach students was how to see. That 
must be in the student — it could not be taught. It. was like Whistler 
that he always spoke of Mrs. Addams as an Irishwoman, as we 
supposed she must be, until she explained it was only that Whistler 
decided she must be Irish because he could not have her English. 
She went often to Ireland because her sister lived there, and she 
was married there, so Whistler said she must be Irish, just as he 
said he wouldn't be born in Lowell. 

Mrs. Whibley is Mrs. Charles Whibley who was Miss Ethel Birnie 
Philip, one of Whistler's sisters-in-law. His portraits of her are 
many, in oils and in lithography. 

Saturday, July 22nd. Whistler left in the morning train for 
Dieppe, J. going to the station to see him off. 

Monday, August yth. Bank Holiday. Kennedy came to ask us to 
dine with him. We arranged to meet him at the Cavour at 
seven. At half past five, he was back to say a telegram had just 
come from Whistler — was to arrive at seven. 
1 899-1900] 37 


The Whistler Journal 

Almost a year passed before another note was added. When we 
look back and consider how full our life was of work and many 
interests, the wonder is there were any notes at all. Besides, most 
of the following winter (1899-1900) Whistler was in Paris, living 
at the Hotel Chatham, sending us frequent bulletins of the Boer 
War in the cartoons of Caran D'Ache, saddened by the death of 
his brother, Dr. Whistler, whom he dearly loved. J., going through 
Paris, as he was always doing, would stop at the Hotel Chatham 
and see him there, and there were always experiences. If they 
came in together, Whistler would invariably walk rapidly upstairs 
— his rooms were little and dark on the first floor — because, he 
said, he never knew who might be waiting to entrap him. One 
day J. remembers coming back and people jumping up, and Whistler 
running upstairs as fast as he could, and then cards coming up, 
and then his saying, "I knew it, the damned Pea-Shooters asking 
me to dinner, thinking they can eat their way in. Because he 
paints, he thinks he can know me." If Whistler was pursued in 
Paris, he was probably lonelier there than he cared to admit. He 
laughed at "the Islanders," but his laugh was gayest when he was 
in their midst. 

At the beginning of May, 1900, he returned to London and stayed 
with Mr. and Mrs. Heinemann who had moved from Whitehall 
Court to Norfolk Street, Mayfair. They asked us to dine the 
evening after his arrival. J. was away, as he often was at this time 
of the year, but E. had her usual pleasure in going to one of the 
pleasantest houses in London, especially when Whistler was of 
the company: All, all are gone. 

Friday, May 4th, igoo. To the Heinemanns to dinner, Whistler 
having just come to town and staying with them. Mrs. Chalmers 
Mitchell, a Marchesa something — an Englishwoman — Arthur 
Symons and Walter Armstrong there. At dinner, Armstrong full 
of official swagger — you could see how accustomed he is to playing 
the Director at the dinner table as in his Gallery, and telling people 
all about art generally. He began to tell Whistler. There never 
was such a thing as an artistic country or period. "Dear me," 
said Whistler, "it's very flattering to find that I have made you 
see it at last, but, really, you know, I think I shall have to copy- 
right my little things after this!" Armstrong was furious, lost 
his temper completely. "Oh, but you mean it one way, and I 
38 [ 1 899-1900 

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The Whistler School 

quite another," he said. The Marchesa, who professed contempt 
for everybody but the English, said that, after all, the manners 
of the Italians and French were all on the surface. "Well, you 
know, a very good place to have them!" said Whistler. 

Chalmers Mitchell is the Secretary of the Zoological Society, 
London, and he and his wife are old friends of Mr. Heinemann's. 
Arthur Symons is the poet, and there is a reference to this evening 
in his essay on Whistler. Sir Walter Armstrong, after many years 
of art criticism in London, was then Director of the Irish National 
Gallery in Dublin. 

Monday, May yih. Whistler, the Heinemanns and Kennedy to 
dinner. Whistler had been to the Royal Academy, had seen the 
much talked-about Sargents. "Really, you know, it is incompre- 
hensible, all this talk about masterpieces. The big picture is 
nothing more than the usual game — nothing more than the Ouless 
or Fildes or Herkomer portrait: just the same thing, only perhaps 
a little more so. Sargent is a good fellow, I like him extremely — 
but — really — that is not great painting, what? A smudge for a 
nose, a great brown shadow anywhere, anything at all that happened 
to be on his palette, even to pure white squeezed out of his tube. 
It is preposterous. And the little picture — smudge everywhere. 
Think of the finish, the delicacy, the elegance, the repose of a little 
Terborgh or Metsu — these were masters who could paint chande- 
liers and the rest, and what a difference! There is nothing in the 
Academy, nothing, and Sargent is on a level with the others. And 
it is the same with his pictures in Paris, the one that made such 
excitement here — the man and the dog with a tongue — or what 
was it? And so with Cecilia Beaux and all of them — even Boldini. 
The French, it is true, have a certain sense of things and can draw, 
and their work gains in dignity by their respect for tradition. 
But, no. Sargent is a good fellow, yes, but, as a painter, no better 
than the rest." 

Sargent's big picture in the Academy this year was the portrait 
group of Lady Elcho, Mrs. Adeane and Mrs. Tennant, and the small 
picture A Venetian Interior, Sargent's Diploma Work. The por- 
I 899-1900] 39 

The Whistler Journal 

trait in Paris was Mr. Asher Wertheimer with his poodle before 
which the British critics had hovered in crowds at the Academy 
press view of 1898. 

Wednesday, May gth. J. back and Whistler, coming in, stayed on 
to lunch and we sent for Miss Philip. 

Miss Philip is Miss Rosalind Birnie Philip, another sister-in-law 
whom, immediately after the death of his wife, he adopted as his 
ward and, in a new will, made his heiress and executrix. 

Thursday, May 10th. Whistler and Miss Philip to dinner. Again 
talk of Sargent. Whistler all satisfaction with the way his pic- 
tures are hung in Paris, though J. thinks they might have been 
treated with more deference. But Whistler wishes he had not 
sent his own portrait. "It was not ready, the colour has sunk 
in, you cannot see it, and really it is very swagger. " 
This was a three-quarters length in a long overcoat. The paint- 
ing has disappeared, but he made the drawing of it. 

Tuesday, May 22nd. Whistler and Ludovici to dinner. 

The notes were growing more and more brief, May always being 
for J. the beginning of out-of-door weather and journeys of work, 
for E. innumerable exhibitions in London and Paris and as 
many articles to write. 1900 was the year of the last Paris Inter- 
national Exposition, in which Whistler won two Grands Prix, and 
E. was busier than usual. The note for May 22nd, brief because 
the next day E. started for one of her many visits to Paris during 
the spring and summer, was the last before the letter from 
Mr. Heinemann printed at the beginning, asking us to write 
the Life. 

4° [ 1 899-1900 





Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 


WE have quoted Mr. Heinemann's letter in the Introduction to 
this book, and we have tried to explain how we got to know 
Whistler and what happened in the intervening years. As soon as 
it was arranged that we were to write his Life, Whistler asked us 
to dine with him, and The Whistler Journal begins with this dinner. 

Whit-Sunday, June 3rd, igoo. Dined at Garlant's with Whistler 
and Kennedy. We arrived promptly at the hour, a quarter to 
eight. At the stroke of eight, the waiter turned on the electric 
light and Whistler appeared: "most dramatic," he said. 
The talk turned, somehow, on Rome and he told us more of his 
two or three days there last year with Heinemann than ever before. 
"Well, you know, I found St. Peter's fine with its great yellow 
walls, the interior too big, perhaps, but you had only to go inside 
to know where Wren got his ideas — how he, well, you know, robbed 
Peter's to build Paul's ! And I liked the Vatican, the Swiss Guards, 
great big fellows, lolling about as in Dumas; they made you think 
of D'Artagnan, Aramis and the others. And Michael Angelo? 
A tremendous fellow, yes; the frescoes in the Sistine Chapel, 
interesting as pictures, but, with all the legs and arms of the 
figures sprawling everywhere, I could not see the decoration. There 
can be no decoration without repose; a tremendous fellow, but, 
not so much in the David and other things I was shown in Rome and 
Florence, as in that one unfinished picture at the National Gallery. 
There is often elegance in the Loggie of Raphael, but the big 
frescoes of the Stanze did not interest me. And Rome was awful — 
a hard, blue sky all the time, a glaring sun, and a strong wind. And 
it was the same in Florence — a sky as cold and hard and blue, and 
a wind blowing." 

Later Whistler, when Kennedy asked him if he had had enough, 
said, "Well, you know, I have already had too much, and too 
much is enough!" 

But it was still later, after he had had his ten minutes' nap and 
waked up for the evening, that he was most wonderful. He told 
us the story of Valparaiso more fully than we had ever heard it. 
1900] 41 

The Whistler Journal 

It happened when he was living in Chelsea. "It was a time when 
many of the adventurers the war had made of many Southerners 
were knocking about London, hunting for something to do, and, 
I hardly know how, but the something resolved itself into an 
expedition to go out to help the Chileans, and, I cannot say why, 
the Peruvians too. Anyhow, there were South Americans to be 
helped against the Spaniards. Some of these people came to me 
as a West Point man, and asked me to join, and it was all done 
in an afternoon. I was off at once in a steamer from Southampton 
to Panama. We crossed the Isthmus, and it was all very awful — 
earthquakes and things — and I vowed, once I got home, nothing 
would ever bring me back again. I found myself at Valparaiso, 
and in Santiago, and I called on the President or whoever the 
person in authority was. After that, came the bombardment. 
There was the beautiful bay with its curving shores, the town of 
Valparaiso on one side, on the other the long line of hills. And 
there, just at the entrance of the bay, was the Spanish fleet, and, 
in between, the English fleet and the French fleet and the American 
fleet and the Russian fleet, and all the other fleets. And when 
the morning came, with great circles and sweeps, they sailed out 
into the open sea, until the Spanish fleet alone remained. It drew 
up right in front of the town, and bang went a shell, and the bom- 
bardment began. The Chileans didn't pretend to defend them- 
selves. The people all got out of the way, and I and the officials 
rode to the opposite hills where we could look on. The Spaniards 
conducted the performance in the most gentlemanly fashion; they 
just set fire to a few of the houses, and once, with some sense of 
fun, sent a shell whizzing over toward our hills. And then, I knew 
what a panic was. I and the officials turned and rode as hard as 
we could, anyhow, anywhere. The riding was splendid and I, as 
a West Point man, was head of the procession. By noon the 
performance was over. The Spanish fleet sailed again into posi- 
tion, the other fleets sailed in, sailors landed to help put out the 
fires, and I and the officials rode back into Valparaiso. All the 
little girls of the town had turned out, waiting for us, and, as 
we rode in, called us Cowards! The Henriquetta, the ship fitted 
42 [i9°o 

The Commencement of the Whistler Journal 

up in London, did not appear till long after, and then we break- 
fasted, and that was the end of it. But I made good use of the 
time, I painted the three Valparaiso pictures that are known — 
and two others that have disappeared. I gave them to a steward 
or purser to bring home and the purser kept them. They 
were seen once in his house or rooms in London by some one 
who knew me and my work. As soon as he saw them, he said, 
'Why these must be by Whistler.' 'Who's Whistler?' said the 
purser. 'An artist,' said the other. 'Oh no,' said the purser, 
'they were painted by a gentleman.' Then the purser started 
back for South America and took them with him. And^you 
know, a tidal wave met the ship and swept off purser, cabin, and 
Whistlers." The return journey was vaguer than the journey out. 
Out of the general vagueness, looms one figure, the Marquis de 
Marmalade, "a nigger from Hayti, who made himself — well — 
obnoxious to me, by nothing in particular except his swagger and 
his colour. And, one day, I kicked him across the deck to the 
top of the companion way and there sat a lady who proved an 
obstacle for a moment. But I just picked up the Marquis de 
Marmalade, dropped him down on the steps below her, and finished 
kicking him down stairs." After that we believe he spent the rest 
of the journey chiefly in his cabin. "And when I got back to 
London J settled down in Chelsea again, but in another house — 
the house next to the one where Studd now lives." 
Then we got back to earlier days still: the famous journey to 
Cologne with his friend Ernest: "I had made a little money and 
we started out gloriously to Nancy and Strasbourg, and we were 
coming back by way of Cologne and Amsterdam. When we got 
to Cologne, the money gave out. 'What is to be done?' asked 
Ernest, who having nothing at all in prospect anywhere, took the 
situation gloomily. 'Order breakfast!' I said, which we did. Then 
I wrote for money to everybody — to a fellow student, a Chilean 
I had asked to look after my letters in Paris — to Seymour Haden — 
to Amsterdam where I thought letters had been forwarded by mis- 
take. We waited. Every day, we went to the Post Office, and 
every day the officials said, 'Nichts, Nichts!* until finally we got 
1900] 43 

The Whistler Journal 

to be known, I with my long hair, Ernest with his brown holland 
suit and straw hat now fearfully out of season. The boys of the 
town would be in wait to follow us to the Post Office, and hardly 
would we get to the door before the official would shake his head 
and cry out 'Nichts, Nichts! , and all the crowd would yell 'Nichts! 
Nichts!' At last, to escape attention we spent the day sitting on the 
ramparts outside the town. When things were looking desperate 
I went back to the hotel, put the copper plates in my knapsack 
and called the landlord. I told him we hadn't a sou, but here were 
my copper plates in a knapsack upon which he would put his seal. 
'But what is to be done with copper plates?' asked the landlord. 
They were to be kept with the greatest care as the work of a dis- 
tinguished artist — once back in Paris, I would send money to pay 
the bill, and the landlord would then immediately send the knap- 
sack. He was a good sort, for he agreed, and even gave us the 
last breakfast I asked for, and Lina the maid slipped her last 
groschen into my hand. Then, with a supply of paper and pencils, 
we started off for Paris on foot. It was the time of the autumn 
fairs and we paid our way by making portraits for a few sous. 
We even joined a lady who played the violin and a gentleman who 
played the harp, and we gave entertainments in all the villages we 
passed through, sleeping in the straw, and tramping it on off days. 
My little patent leather shoes were all in bits and had to be patched 
together in the evening at every town or village. And one day 
when it rained, and I saw Ernest tramping solemnly before me 
through the mud, the water dripping from his hat and his coat a 
wet rag, I shrieked with laughter. 'But what would you have?* 
said Ernest, ( les saisons m'ont toujours devance.' When we got to 
Aix-la-Chapelle, it was all right again. I went to see the American 
Consul, got some money, and did the rest of the journey in comfort. 
And the landlord was paid, and the knapsack of etchings returned, 
and, you know, some years later when I was passing through 
Cologne with my mother and had left her in her hotel in the even- 
ing, I went off to find the old hotel and the landlord. And the 
daughter of the house, who had grown up in the meanwhile, 
recognized me at once, and many bottles were opened." 
44 [i9°° 






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The Commencement of the Whistler Journal 

We had another story of a delightful creature, always without a 
sou, he knew in those days, the Count de Montezuma. "This was 
the sort of thing he would do — amazing! He started one day for 
Charenton on the steamboat, his pockets as usual empty and he 
was there for as long as he could stay. The boat broke down, a 
sergent de ville came on board and ordered everybody off except 
the Captain and his family who happened to be with him. The 
Montezuma paid no attention. With arms crossed he walked up 
and down, looking at no one. They waited, but he walked on, 
up and down, up and down, looking at no one. The sergent de 
ville repeated 'tout le monde a terre? The Montezuma gave no 
sign. l Et vousV the sergent de ville asked at last. ( Je suis de la 
jamiller said the Montezuma. Opposite, staring at him, stood 
the captain with his wife and children. 'You see,' said the sergent 
de ville, 'the captain does not know you, he says you are not of 
the family. You must go.' i Moi ' and the Montezuma drew himself 
up proudly, l Moi, Je suis le batard!'" 

Garlant's, where we dined, is the hotel in Suffolk Street, Pall Mall, 
to which at this period Whistler went when in London, unless he 
stopped at Air. Heinemann's — "keeping house with Heinemann," 
he said. It was amusing to us that he chose Garlant's, for close 
by, in the same street, is the gallery of the British Artists whom 
he therefore exposed to the constant risk of an embarrassing meet- 
ting with their former President, while the hotel was Sir Seymour 
Haden's London headquarters and the brothers-in-law had not 
been on speaking terms for years. 

The talk often turned on Rome after the winter of 1899 when 
Whistler was there for the first time on his way to Heinemann's 
wedding at Porto D'Anzio, the home of Mrs. Heinemann — Magda 
Sindici before her marriage — and Rome, though disappointing, 
made a strong impression. Mr. J. Kerr-Lawson's account of his 
stay in Florence we printed in the Life. Together, they visited 
the Uffizi, and its gallery of artists' portraits painted by themselves. 
His would be there one day, Lawson told him; the day never came. 
After his death some one in Florence realized the mistake of not 
having invited him and Herbert Home wrote to J., asking if a 
portrait of Whistler might be obtained, but it was too late. J. sug- 
gested that they apply to Miss Philip, but no portrait of Whistler is 
1900] 45 

The Whistler Journal 

yet in the Uffizi. If the present owner would send the McCulloch 
portrait, which Freer had not the sense to buy, he might stand 
a better chance of being remembered as the intelligent patron of 
Whistler. One or two incidents of the stay in Florence, Lawson 
omitted from the account sent us, though not in talking it over. 
Among other things, he told us of the meeting between Ricci, the 
Director of the Uffizi, and Herbert Home at an evening reception. 

April 28th, igo6. Ricci asked Home who were the living English 
painters whose portraits of themselves he ought to have for the 
gallery. Home said he must think it over. And he did. And he 
suggested Holman Hunt, Sargent, and Wilson Steer who, naturally, 
were willing. Then Horne told Kerr-Lawson what he had done. 
"And Whistler?" Lawson said, and he advised Horne to write to J. 
and ask if the McCulloch portrait or any other as good was to be 
had, but Horne did not follow his advice at the time. Shortly 
after, Lavery came to Florence and suddenly everyone was saying 
what a great man he was, and why was not his portrait of himself 
in the Uffizi, and in the midst of the excitement he was asked for it. 
Extraordinary, was Lawson's comment, the way Lavery on the 
Continent seemed to reap Whistler's laurels. Whistler passed 
through Florence unnoticed; Lavery was feted, asked to paint his 
portrait for the Uffizi, given banquets — getting commissions, bor- 
rowing easels, using packing boxes for thrones, altogether making 
a tremendous success. And it was the same everywhere. The 
fault, Lawson suggested, was Whistler's. Whistler irritated by 
foolish talk of Sargent, thought to belittle him by praise of Lavery 
— to pull down the great man by putting up the little. We said it 
was not like Whistler. But Lawson insisted that it was so — 
Whistler told him, at a moment when praise of Sargent was in 
every man's mouth, that Sargent was a mediocre painter — any 
one of the Glasgow School was better, there was — giving the first 
name that occurred to him — Lavery, for example. The chances 
were Whistler had only just heard of Lavery, but he served 
his purpose as well as another. If, however, W 7 histler repeated 
this to half a dozen or more people, it was enough to make 
Lavery's reputation. 
46 [1900 

The Commencement of the Whistler Journal 

The whole story is an absurd misconception of the character of 
Whistler, who was not vindictive over the success of other artists. 
But it is typical of the sort of thing said of him even by men sup- 
posed to appreciate him. As a matter of fact he had known Lavery 
for years, and Guthrie too and always, as they have told us, they 
admired him. Of the beginning of their friendliness, Lavery has 
given us an account. He had only seen Whistler once or twice, 
rather formally, when one day he met him about four in the after- 
noon at Piccadilly Circus. "Come," said Whistler, "and have a 
cocktail," and they went to the Criterion and sat there for two or 
three hours. From there they went to Lavery's hotel and dined, 
and Whistler talked and talked and never left until four o'clock 
in the morning, fresh as ever, but leaving Lavery exhausted. 
Another incident, recalled another day by Lawson, is as typical of 
the persistency with which the English, even as far away as 
Florence, kept up the old Whistler tradition. 

September ist, 1906. Lawson, wanting to arrange something pleas- 
ant for the day Whistler was in Florence, asked Mrs. Janet Ross 
if she would not like him to bring Whistler to lunch at her house 
near Settignano, a visit to her being one of the things the " Loiterer" 
in Florence was supposed to want most to do after seeing the 
Bargello and the Uffizi. "Oh," Mrs. Ross said, "he's a dreadful 
little cad, but bring him," and she rather made a point that he 
should be brought — she had known him in London, had been to 
his breakfasts. The next day, toward lunch time, Lawson said to 
Whistler, "why not go out to Mrs. Ross's house and lunch with 
her?" "Who's that?" Whistler asked, "Mrs. Ross, that dreadful 
old bore?" and he wouldn't hear of it. Lawson remembers that 
he was amusing about Loeser and Berenson — one of them, he said, 
had strayed into the studio and bought things and carried them 
off, but the other — Berenson — never ventured. 

J. remembers one of the tribe turning up in the Rue du Bac and 
describing to Whistler his own pictures and Whistler's comment 
after he had gone. "Well, you know, he knows a great deal more 
about my things than I do, but then he don't know enough to 
know that everything he does know is wrong!" When you reflect 
that these are the people who know everything about the artists 
of the past, you do not wonder at their ignorance of everything 
1900] 47 

The Whistler Journal 

going on about them. This was Whistler's only visit to Florence 
and Rome. 

Why Whistler went to Chile, he never explained to us or, as far 
as we can find out, to anybody else; just as he never explained why 
he did not go home during the Civil War, though it would have 
seemed more in accord with the West Point traditions to which 
he held all his life, and though his brother, Dr. William Whistler, 
was a Surgeon in the Southern Army. The true explanation 
probably is that, as Whistler knew, Art is a jealous, no less than 
"a whimsical goddess, "and demands the undivided time and ser- 
vice of the artist. But it is curious, because during the Boer and 
Spanish wars he worked himself up into the greatest excitement, 
endlessly discussing them, and yet in the Civil War and the Franco- 
German war he took no personal part. By the grace of God, he 
did not live through the world-ruining war that we have not yet 
seen the end of. Mr. McQueen, a young Oxford undergraduate 
when we knew him, told us that his father was in Valparaiso when 
Whistler was there, that he put Whistler up at his Club, and that 
it was from the Club windows that the beautiful upright Valparaiso 
was painted. 

Studd, to whose house in Lindsey Row Whistler referred, was 
Arthur Studd, for some unknown reason called Peter by his friends. 
His admiration for Whistler was great. In the end it led him far 
astray in his interpretation of "the Master's wishes," but a proof 
of his sincerity is shown in his purchase of The Little White Girl, one 
of the Cremorne series, and a very beautiful nocturne. He left 
the three pictures to the British nation on the wise condition that 
they should be hung at once in the National Gallery, Trafalgar 
Square. And yet, when the International gave the Whistler 
Memorial Exhibition in 1905, Studd protested in The Times and 
other papers that Whistler did not wish an exhibition of any of his 
works in London, and Whistler told J. and Heinemann that he did 
not wish any of them hung in an English public gallery. Studd 
also opposed the scheme of the London Memorial for London, 
but with no success, for Whistler's friends, with very few excep- 
tions, supported it. The money was obtained. The failure was 
Rodin's. His design was rejected. We are sorry the pictures 
remain in London, where Whistler certainly did not want them, 
though it may at the present time be the safest place for them. 
More than once he said that no "eccentricity" of his was to go into 
the National Gallery, that the Louvre was good enough for him. 
We have seen a letter from him in which he refers to one he 
wrote to Studd to beg him, if The Little White Girl ever left the 

48 [1900 





The Commencement of the Whistler Journal 

family, to promise not to leave it to any gallery in England. He 
did not want his pictures to go even into private English collec- 
tions. They might be sold to Scotchmen, Irishmen, Americans, 
Frenchmen, but never to an Englishman. However, if, as it has 
turned out, Studd's pictures — and the same is true of Mr. Alexan- 
der's — had to remain in London, we are glad they are the property 
of the British nation. And so, Studd, in defiance of Whistler, did 
great good. We have not seen The Little White Girl and the 
Nocturnes in the National Gallery and we like to remember them 
as they hung — the only pictures on the wall — in Studd's drawing- 
room in the old Lindsey Row house looking out on the river, near 
where they had been painted and where they seemed to belong. 
Ernest was Ernest Delannoy, a nephew of Benjamin-Constant, 
the statesman. The story of his life was finished for us a few years 
later by Drouet, the sculptor, Whistler's friend to whom we owe 
many facts of Whistler's student days in Paris. There is a note 
of our first visit to him. 

May gth, IQOJ. Drouet asked us to come and see him in the Rue 
de Seine; a little court, an old stairway, and two or three small 
rooms, crammed with pictures and drawings, from floor to ceiling, 
on easels, stacked in corners, and almost all copies or fakes. In the 
largest room, a bed in one corner and a table with old velvet as 
cover, hardly space for two or three chairs; in the adjoining room, 
the washstand. As he told the story, Ernest and Whistler both 
wore the same sort of linen suits for their journey, and so Ernest 
was able to pose for the portrait, all but the face, in the title to 
The French Set of etchings. Ernest could not stand London, 
where he went to stay with Whistler, it was trop triste. But he 
was in misery after he came back to Paris: he could get no work. 
He had not money for sufficient food. In the end, he went mad and 
died in a lunatic asylum. 

Whistler's adventures in Alsace, as he recalled them, gave us one 
of many glimpses of his gaiety as a student — the gaiety so bewilder- 
ing to the solemn Britons, his fellow students, that Sir Edward 
Poynter brought back to London the myth he never ceased to 
believe in of Whistler — the Idle Apprentice. It was the one impres- 
sion he gave in his speech at the Royal Academy banquet the year 
following Whistler's death; his usual suggestion in private as, when 
1900] 49 


The Whistler Journal 

looking over some Whistlers at the Fine Art Society's that same 
spring, "A genius," he said to Mr. Langton Douglas, "but the 
devil wouldn't work!" Whistler, never a member of the Royal 
Academy, was worth a sneer from Poynter after his death — but 
he was not elected because theAmerican members did not want him. 
If sometimes, as on this Third of June, Whistler spent the evening 
recalling his early life, on other evenings he told us nothing of 
the past. But, as we agreed, he was to talk when he felt like it, 
and we were to listen. We had the sense not to bother him as 
most people did. Had we bothered him, we would have heard 
nothing at all. 

Tuesday, June flh, igoo. Mr. and Mrs. Janvier to dinner, and 
about half past nine Whistler and Kennedy came in. I was vexed 
to see that Whistler's most gallant manners lavished in an opening 
remark to Mrs. Janvier, who was sitting nearest to him, were lost 
upon her as she is rather deaf and did not hear. And his gallantry 
is too charming to lose. He consented to Gray's going up to the 
studio to-morrow to begin photographing the pictures there for 
the book. Kennedy asked us to dinner at Garlant's, but it was 
decided they should both come to us to-morrow — "we shall have 
a so much better dinner with you," Whistler said, "and then, you 
know, they never have any sweet things round there" — ! 

On Sunday evening, the first note shows, Whistler began at once 
to give us facts of his life in the course of his talk, as he had prom- 
ised. It was a greater proof of his interest in the book when, two 
evenings later, he came to our flat to see about having his pictures 
photographed. Nobody knew better than Whistler that to photo- 
graph pictures successfully takes long and calls for special arrange- 
ments of light, and that, while it was going on, his studio would 
be disorganized. We wondered, therefore, how he would feel when 
it was time to begin, but he accepted all the arrangements Mr. 
Gray proposed. Gray was W. E. Gray, one of the best photog- 
raphers for this kind of work in London. He had already made 
photographs for Whistler of which Whistler approved. Later, at 
the trial which Miss Philip brought against us and Heinemann to 
prevent the publication of our book, and which she lost, these 
photographs done for us were produced by her in court for some 
unknown reason, as they proved we had been authorized to have 
them made. Not content with this, Miss Philip in the witness box 

50 [i9°° 

The Commencement of the Whistler Journal 

stated that it was Whistler's wish that J. should go round Europe 
and America on a bicycle making snapshots of his pictures wherever 
J. found them. But her statements were so amazing that nobody 
thought it worth while to cross-examine her. 

Mr. Janvier was Thomas A. Janvier. He and Mrs. Janvier were 
living in London at the time, and we saw much of them. 

Wednesday, June 6th. Whistler and Kennedy to dinner. A quiet 
dinner. Joseph had been up in the studio most of the day, super- 
intending the photographing, and Whistler seemed satisfied with 
what Gray was doing. He slept more than usual, and Kennedy, 
ruthlessly carried him off, just when he really waked up and was 
in the humour to talk. 

Sunday, June ioth. Miss Philip, Whistler and Kennedy to dinner 
to celebrate Whistler's Grands Prix and J's. Gold Medals, Whist- 
ler, of course, treating the occasion with all solemnity and dis- 
tinction — arriving with Miss Philip, both in evening dress — we 
were not, which he evidently thought a slight on our part. " Shock- 
ing! Shocking! — your want of ceremony," he said. Just before 
we sat down to dinner, Cole came in most unexpectedly; as the 
other Gold Medallist, it was appropriate, but things did not go 
quite as they ought to have gone to begin with. Cole was still 
full of the diet question. He now lives chiefly on rhubarb tops — 
they have such a "foody" taste, his son thinks. "Dear me! Poor 
fellow!" Whistler told him, "it sounds as if once long, long ago 
he had really eaten, and still has a dim memory of what food is!" 
"And spinach," Cole added, "it's fine. We eat it raw. It's wonder- 
ful, the things it does for you!" "But what does it do for you?" 
Whistler asked. And Cole began a dissertation on the juices of 
the stomach. But that was enough. Whistler would have no 
more. "Well, you know, when you begin to talk about the stomach 
and its juices it's time to stop dining." As he talked Cole was 
eating meat and drinking wine quite heartily. The evening was 
not over successful. 

Whistler, like all true artists, hated awards at exhibitions, especially 
if he did not get the first one. For long, second-and-third-class 
1900] 51 

The Whistler Journal 

honours usually came his way, as in Munich when he arranged a 
show for the British Artists, in which they did not play up, and 
he received a second-class medal and thanked the Directors for 
their second-hand compliment. In Paris he got only one third- 
class medal, and in the first Venice International a third-class prize. 
But his objections came less from the fact that he was badly treated 
for many years by international jurors with no understanding of 
his art, than from his realization that money prizes for works of 
art were simply an incentive to graft and dishonesty. In no land 
has this system been carried to such an extreme as in the United 
States, where large cash prizes are annually awarded in large 
numbers of American exhibitions to American artists only. As 
far as we are aware, not a single one of these cash prizes was ever 
awarded to Whistler, and the majority of the men and women who 
have won them are unknown internationally. Further, Whistler 
was never made a member of the National Academy of Design and 
he belonged to the Society of American Artists only for a year or so. 
The consequence was that, in the few societies in which he had any 
controlling voice, he absolutely opposed money prizes, and in the 
International would not allow even medals to be given. And in 
these matters he was right. 

However, when awards were given at an exhibition and the highest 
were bestowed upon him, he accepted them as practical signs of 
the appreciation of his work. This was why he was pleased when, 
at the Paris Exposition of 1900, he was awarded a Grand Prix for 
Painting and another for Etching, and he did not conceal his 
pleasure. He was the more pleased perhaps because he had passed 
through a moment of doubt, of which we have a note: — 

January 18th, igo8. Mr. Charles Prince tells us of the morning he 
went to see Whistler off for London at the Gare du Nord and found 
him on the platform in great agitation. "0," he said, "if only 
you had come five minutes sooner!" And explained that he had 
just read in one of the Paris papers a notice of the Exposition and 
his pictures were criticised in a way that convinced him something 
must have happened to them or that they had been badly hung, 
and he wanted to see to make sure. But his trunk was registered 
and in the luggage van, and it was too late. Mr. Prince got his 
trunk and a porter to carry it to a cab, and they drove away and 
left it at the Hotel. Then they breakfasted well, and drove on to 
the Exposition and went straight to his picture. He looked at it 
52 [1900 

The Commencement of the Whistler Journal 

in silence for a few minutes, hid his face in his hands — just like a 
girl, was Mr. Prince's description — and said "Why it's all right!" 
Afterwards, he was looking at other things, and one of the attend- 
ants, an American — most of them were students who had got the 
post for the summer — came up to Prince to ask who Whistler was. 
Prince told him. The man's eyes opened. "What! He's the 
biggest man we've ever had and we've had Kings!" 

J. received Gold Medals for Etching and Drawing, and when the 
news came of the honours they both had won, we celebrated the 
events, as we celebrated all things in those days, with a little 
dinner. The announcement of the awards had been officially 
received while we were still in Paris. Then Heinemann gave 
Whistler a dinner, and they crowned him with laurel — or sprays 
from a plant in the dining-room — and Whistler was delighted. 
Now it was our turn to celebrate. 

Cole is Timothy Cole, to whom a Gold Medal was awarded for 
his Wood Engravings. He is a remarkable man as well as a re- 
markable engraver, and Whistler enjoyed meeting him at our 
dinner table two or three years before when he was in London 
engraving the series of English Masterpieces for The Century. He 
had been away from London for some time, the mistake over the 
practical joke of which we have written had been forgotten, and 
nothing could have been more unexpected and appropriate than 
his sudden appearance. He was then, as we hope for his sake he 
is not now, an ardent vegetarian, though not a bigot. He ate no 
meat at home, for long he lived chiefly on apples and nuts, but 
we never knew him to refuse meat when he came to us. 

Monday, June nth, igoo. Whistler alone to dinner. I had written 
that it was Joseph's last dinner, and that Joseph would be out all 
afternoon but would be home at eight. Whistler's answer was 
that he would come at eight, which, of course, meant dinner. 
When he came, "Well you know," was his greeting, "you will 
feel about me, as I did in the old days about the man I could never 
ask to dinner, because he was always there! I couldn't ask him 
to sit down, because there he always was already in his chair!" 
He was much pleased because he heard that when the International 
jury were voting for the American Medals of Honour, his were 
voted for unanimously and were read out the first of the list to 
I9°°] S3 

The Whistler Journal 

unanimous applause. He read us an amusing letter from the 
Manager of the Hotel Chatham congratulating him on the award, 
which he, of all men, so well deserved. He promises to let Gray 
finish photographing. The South African position enchanted him: 
Mrs. Kruger receiving the British Army, while the Boers retired 
with all they wanted, and went on capturing the British soldiers 
wholesale — for the news has just come of the surrender of six 
hundred of a Derbyshire Regiment. He liked too The Star's 
suggestion that Buller might yet have to march to the relief of 
Roberts at Pretoria. A quiet evening, but delightful. 

Tuesday, June igth. Whistler called in the evening, but only for 
a few minutes. He thought Joseph was back. He had been out 
of town with Wimbush, who took him to Amersham, beyond 
Pinner, where he had meant to stay. "Well, I could see that 
towards twilight, it might be pretty in a curious way, but it was 
not really pretty, and so I came back. I want to go somewhere, 
for I have promised to paint two landscapes." He says he will 
come on Sunday when Mrs. Custer and the Lungrens are to be here. 

From the earliest days Whistler was bored in the country and made 
a jest of his boredom. He never stayed long in it anywhere except 
at Speke Hall, the Leylands' place near Liverpool, and there the 
sea was close by and his chief work was painting or etching his 
many portraits of Mr. and Mrs. Leyland and their children. At 
first, when he was young and trying everything, he sometimes went 
to week-end parties and shooting parties. Sir Frederick Milner 
wrote us a story of Whistler's visit to his place. The first morning 
he started off with the rest to shoot, in little light shoes more 
appropriate to a drawing-room. Sir Frederick, a much larger man, 
lent him a pair of shooting boots in which he was the most comic 
sight imaginable. A hare suddenly sat up and looked at him. 
Whistler fired and shot it dead. Then he threw down the gun — he 
had had enough — he had never shot anything before — he wanted 
the experience and it was enough. It must have been before 
this that he tried his luck at the Leylands' when his own report 
was, "I rather fancied I shot part of a hare for I thought I saw the 
fluff of its fur flying. I know I hit a dog for I saw the keeper taking 
out the shot!" Sport amused him no more than the week-end. 
We know of his attempting no other variety save cycling, and then, 
54 [1900 




(See page 14) 



In the possession of Mrs. Knowles 


The Commencement of the Whistler Journal 

as we wrote in the Life, he fell off his wheel and was consoled only 
because the fall was in a rose bush. But the truth is, he soon 
wearied when away from town, and even the ocean he could 
exhaust, as he laughed in a letter to Mrs. Dr. Whistler from St. 
Ives. If his friends were in the country he would urge them to 
come up to town for a breath of fresh air, for which he would 
promptly run up himself if he was the unfortunate exile. He hoped 
the country would do her no harm, he wrote to Lady Colin Camp- 
bell — it could not make her more beautiful. Altogether, the grass- 
hopper was a burden! He, or rather the world, lost by this preju- 
dice, for it was the cause of canvases left unfinished, landscapes, 
marines, portraits thrown aside because he could not resist the 
call of the town. An unfortunate example is a small, practically 
unknown portrait of Mr. George Lucas which it would be 
doubly interesting to have, now that Mr. Lucas' collection of 
Whistler prints, letters and papers — a valuable collection — is in the 
Maryland Institute in Baltimore. He was an old friend of the 
Whistler family, a most affectionate and useful friend of Whistler 
himself in the early days and until the end, though they saw less 
of each other after Whistler's marriage. He was another of the 
remarkable old men our search for Whistler material introduced 
us to. E. has vivid memories of the winter morning in Paris, when 
M. Duret took her to see him in his apartment. 

February nth, IQ04. He was then eighty — like a prophet with 
his white beard, and in his long grey soft flannel coat and grey skull 
cap, sitting in a fairly small room, delightfully littered with his 
collections; the walls hung as close as possible with pictures — two 
Corots, a Daumier, a beautiful little Fantin like a Diaz, a Dau- 
bigny, a Hervier and more than I had time to look at, against the 
walls, two or three little cabinets covered with small bronzes by 
Barye and a few low cases filled with portfolios, labelled, Whistler, 
Manet, Jacque. He had just got the news of the great fire in Balti- 
more. It was the business part of the city which had been burnt 
down, the old part, and his house, the house where he was born, 
was almost in the middle of it and therefore must have been de- 
stroyed. He showed me a map of Baltimore to explain, and for a 
while could talk of nothing else. 

At last, he began to talk about Whistler, and brought out etchings 
and water-colours and the portrait of himself in oils which Whistler 
i9°o] 55 

The Whistler Journal 

had done, or rather begun once, he said, when staying with him in 
his place in the country. There had been only two sittings and 
then Whistler, unable to stand the country any longer, rushed 
back to London. It is a small portrait — anticipating the Holloway, 
Hannay, Kennedy, Crockett portraits. A label, stating that it is 
the result of two sittings, with the date, is on the back, and the 
date is 1886. Mr. Lucas was therefore almost twenty years 
younger, but it was still like him. He stands facing you, in a loose 
blue-black coat and trousers, cane in hand, against a brown back- 
ground, charming in colour, full of character. Mr. Lucas said it 
was characteristic that, as he heard afterwards, Whistler should 
be much concerned about it — asking some one who had seen it 
whether it was really beautiful, really his best — he did not want 
anything that was not to remain. 

It was over the discoveries in this collection that the critics of 
America made such fools of themselves. If Whistler had no use for 
the country, he delighted in little country towns and villages, leav- 
ing in oils and water-colours and prints many records of his wander- 
ings through them in France and Belgium, Holland and England. 
Lannion, Paimpol, Pourville, Domburg, Lyme Regis are names that 
occur to one at once. In some, if he carried away his impression of 
the place, he left an impression of himself hardly less strong. One 
evening during the war Muirhead Bone had dropped in to see us: — 

July 1 8th, iqi6. He gave an amusing account of how Whistler is 
remembered at Lyme Regis, where Mr. Bone and his family spent 
the summer of 1914. When he took his house he asked the house 
agent if he had known Whistler. The house agent said he had 
rented Whistler a studio, the first time we ever heard Whistler 
had a studio there. It was a sort of big house-painter's shop with 
plenty of light. The house agent was also a coal merchant, and 
Whistler's French servant used to come and buy coal by the pound, 
and take it home, which astonished the house agent who had never 
seen such a thing done before. No doubt he put it down to the 
queer ways of the foreigner. After this, Muirhead Bone made a 
Whistler pilgrimage through the town. He found the Blacksmith 
who looked like the lithograph and painting and who is as hand- 
56 [1900 

The Commencement of the Whistler Journal 

some as ever. He also found Little Rose. She is the daughter of 
the grocer he dealt with, she has married away from Lyme Regis, 
but she came in once while he was in the shop, big and buxom, 
with very red cheeks. 

Friday, June 22nd, igoo. Whistler called in the morning to say 
he would dine on Sunday. He seemed to be quite hurt that J. 
would stay away while he is here, and he was sure if he went down 
to join J. in Norfolk, illustrating articles on the Norfolk Broads for 
The Century, J. would at once be moving on somewhere else. 

Sunday, June 24th. Dinner: Mr. and Mrs. Lungren, Mrs. Custer, 
Mrs. Ohl, and Whistler — the latter in great form. As we sat down, 
Mrs. Custer said something about the annoyance of having too 
many friends — "Ah," he said, "you should do as I did — get rid 
of them all at the start!" Rome, he described as "a bit of an old 
ruin along side of a brand-new railway station, where I saw Mrs. 
Potter Palmer." The talk was chiefly of the Boers. He had a 
sympathetic audience, and so went over it all again . . . "Well, 
you know, Bismarck said South Africa would prove the grave of 
the British Empire, and that the day will come when the blundering 
of the British army will surprise the world. And there was a kind 
of a professional prophet who predicted a July that would bring 
destruction to the British, and I — well — for my part, I am waiting 
to see what this July of 1900 has in store for the Island — What?" 
Then, the inexhaustible subject of British cleanliness — "Paris is 
and always has been full of baths — you can see them, beautiful 
Louis XV and Louis XVI baths on the Seine. In London, until a 
few years ago, there was none, except one in Argyll Street, to which 
Britons came with a furtive air, afraid of being caught. And the 
French, having the habit of the bath, think and say nothing of it; 
while the British — well — they're so astonished now they have 
learned to bathe they can't talk of anything but their tub: that 
is the difference." 

The little party of Sunday, the 24th, was in every way to Whistler's 
fancy. Mrs. Custer is the widow of General Custer, and so he was 
1900] 57 

The Whistler Journal 

sure she could understand the situation in South Africa. Mrs. 
Lungren was her niece, young and pretty. Lungren is Fernand 
Lungren, the artist, who was an influence in raising American 
illustration to the high level it reached in the Eighties and Nineties. 
Mrs. Ohl, wife of a well-known American journalist, is from Georgia 
and Whistler dearly loved a Southerner. Besides, he had already 
met her in Paris where she had an apartment for a year or two, 
and a young friend, another Southerner, who shared it with 
her, was a student at the Academie Carmen. There was no 
jarring element. 

Monday, June 25th. Dined at the Maurice Macmillans, and while 
I was there Whistler called at Buckingham Street. 


Tuesday, Jtine 26th, igoo. To make up for missing Whistler yester- 
day, asked him to dine with me alone. He came about a quarter 
past eight. "You know, I meant to send an answer by the boy, 
but somehow the boy had gone before I knew it, and then, some- 
how, the day had gone before I knew it, and there was nothing to 
do but come and make my apologies." He brought with him all 
the choice clippings from the papers of the two last days, reporting 
the news, with comments, of the early days of the month, which 
so far had not been sent in detail. . . . These, with his own addi- 
tional comments, he was preparing to send to Kennedy, who 
ventures to sympathize with the English . . . 
But the talk of the evening was on Howell, "the wonderful man, 
the genius, the superb liar, the Gil-Bias, Robinson-Crusoe hero out 
of his proper time, the creature of top-boots and plumes — splen- 
didly flamboyant. Rossetti made a famous limerick of him: 

There's a Portuguee person called Howell, 
Who lays on his lies with a trowel. 
When I goggle my eyes 
And start with surprise 

'Tis at the monstrous big lies told by Howell. 
5 8 [1900 

7 /<?-,/>"■ ^)\\\0 




By H. T. Dunn 
In the possession of the Estate of W. M. Rossetti 




Freer Collection, National Museum, Washington 

Charles Augustus Howell 

He was the real hero of the Picaresque Novel, forced by modern 
conditions into other adventures and along other roads. He had 
the instinct for beautiful things. He knew them and made him- 
self indispensable by knowing them. He was of the greatest 
service to Rossetti; he helped Watts to sell his pictures and raise 
his prices; he acted as artistic adviser to Mr. Howard [Lord Car- 
lisle]. He had the gift of intimacy; he was at once a friend, on 
closest terms of confidence. He introduced everybody to every- 
body, he entangled everybody with everybody, and it was easier 
to get involved with Howell than to get rid of him." 
Whistler could afford to remain friendly after everyone else had 
withdrawn because, as he once told a man who threatened his 
private life, "'I have no private life!' I called after him as he 
growled threats down the stairs. It was a summer I was living in 
Chelsea, in Lindsey Row, in the house next to where Peter Studd 
is now, and my mother was with me. There always was real sum- 
mer in those days — I was doing the nocturnes — and life was won- 
derful — if I rang, always a boy seemed to appear with a bunch of 
mint! Well, you know, it happened one evening I was sitting look- 
ing out of my window, and there was Howell passing, and Rosa 
Corder was with him. And I called out to them and they came in. 
It was astounding with Howell, he was like a great Portuguese 
cock of the poultry yard: hens were always clucking about him — 
his wife 'Kitty,' and Miss Alice Chambers, and Rosa Corder. 
Well they came in and I rang, and tea and ice and all sorts of won- 
derful things came up — and Howell said, 'Why you have etched 
many plates, haven't you? You must get them out, you must 
print them, you must let me see to them — there's gold waiting. 
And you have the press.' And so I had in a room upstairs, only 
it was rusty, it hadn't been used for so long. But Howell wouldn't 
listen to an objection. He said he would fix up the press, he Would 
pull it. And there was no escape. And the next morning, there 
we all were, Rosa Corder too, and Howell pulling at the wheel, 
and there were basins of water and paper being damped, and 
prints being dried, and then Howell was grinding more ink. and 
with the plates under my fingers, I felt all the old love for it come 
1900] 59 

The Whistler Journal 

back. In the afternoons Howell would go and see Graves the 
printsellers in Pall-Mali, and there were orders flying about, and 
cheques — it was all amazing, you know! Howell profited, of 
course. But he was so superb. One evening we left a pile of eleven 
prints just pulled, and the next morning only five were there. 
'It's very strange,' Howell said, 'we must have a search. No one 
could have taken them but me, and that you know is impossible!' 
And then Howell said I must paint the portrait of Rosa Corder, 
and there would be engravings and he would arrange with the 
Graves, and, naturally he couldn't pay much but he would want 
the picture for himself, and he would give me a hundred pounds. 
I said I would paint it for him and the engraving would pay me. 
But no, Howell said, I must have my hundred pounds — and the 
work began. In the middle of it he suggested a portrait of Disraeli, 
and the Graves agreed; they would give me a thousand pounds 
for picture and copyright, and it would be a companion for the 
Carlyle. Howell made all the arrangements. Then came the 
afternoon at Disraeli's place near Beaconsfield — a story to be told 
another time — when everything was most wonderful, and we were 
the two artists together, recognizing each other at a glance just 
as I and Augustine know and understand each other. When I 
got back to town I reported to Howell at Southampton Row, 
where Rosa Corder was established. At supper, Howell was in a 
most sentimental mood — 'You have never believed me in all this, 
you have never had the least confidence, you did not think I was 
going to pay you, but here!' and he threw down a role of bank 
notes. All surprised, I found seventy of the hundred pounds and 
pocketed them bewildered. 

Next came the Ruskin trial, and general collapse, and my journey 
to Venice. When I got back to town, passing by the Graves 
picture shop I stopped in one day. The old man was glad to see 
me, fact of the matter was he wanted to know when I proposed 
to pay back the two hundred pounds? 'What two hundred 
pounds?' I asked. Why, the money he advanced at Mr. Howell's 
request on the Disraeli portrait that was never painted. He gave 
it the day I went down to Beaconsfield! — the seventy pounds were 
60 [1900 



In the possession of Alan S. Cole, C. B. 



In the possession of Mrs. Knowles 

Charles Augustus Howell 

explained. Had he no security? I asked. Why, yes, there was the 
portrait of my Mother — so that, after all, but for Howell, the por- 
trait would have gone to the creditors!" 

And then there were the stories of Howell's house in Fulham, full 
of beautiful things, the hens all there clucking, and a child — no one 
knew who was its mother — and an old Italian, Brugiani, a Neapoli- 
tan who had had a fine villa and things in it near Florence, all of 
which passed somewhere through the fingers of Howell, and Bru- 
giani, by way of claiming interest, had settled down on Howell, 
sleeping much under an old fur coat, playing checkers with "Kitty" 
and going to some unknown business every morning. And then 
Howell's days spent in four wheelers full of all sorts of things — he 
was known to and loved by all the pawnbrokers of London — and 
his appearance in court when the railway ran through his place 
and he claimed damages — spending the day before the inspectors 
came pulling up the weeds in the carriage drive to the front door, 
and pleading his case so well that the Judge complimented him 
and awarded him heavy damages, Howell afterwards carrying off 
the mantel pieces and the lead from the roof and putting any old 
rubbish in their place. This was followed by a flight to the sea- 
shore, to Selsey Bill, and his establishment in three houses by the 
sea, and his swaggering in the village as a great person, and on 
profitable terms for himself with a wine merchant, and finding 
occupation in getting off the copper from an old wreck in front of 
his houses, there for years, but never before touched. The end 
was the Paddon affair — Paddon, a diamond merchant who en- 
trusted him with his cheque book and orders generally to furnish 
and decorate — probably half the shops of the kind in town coming 
in for the plunder with Howell. But the end was the famous black 
pots — Chinese, very rare, costing thousands — and then Paddon 
discovered rows of the same pots in an Oxford Street shop — mere 
fakes. And that was the end of Howell. 

Howell disappeared for a while, but not so long after was seen at 
the house of a Lady Somebody in Mayfair, and is supposed to 
have died at Rosa Corder's in Southampton Row. He is said to 
have left his daughter as her fortune a huge box of letters and 
1900] 61 

The Whistler Journal 

papers good for blackmail. Whistler never broke off with him 
really, though he did not let Howell attend to things in the end — 
but went with him and stayed at Paddon's, laughing at him and 
his adventures to his face, much to his discomfiture. There was 
another famous adventure. "Some Mr. Gerald Lee had filled his 
house with Old Masters bought from a Jew dealer, and died before 
paying for them all. A claim was brought against the estate, but 
Mrs. Lee, who somehow doubted their genuineness, refused to pay. 
Howell, posing as professional expert and having in his cleverness 
managed to get a government position, was sent down to report. 
He made out a most wonderful catalogue, written with his inevit- 
able neatness and elegance, all in favour of Mrs. Lee. There was, 
for instance, say a Sassoferato — which he described eloquently as 
a picture he would not be willing to see in the house with him. 
But to everybody's surprise on the day of the trial he turned com- 
pletely round. Fletcher Moulton, the Jew's Counsel, had despaired 
and now found the case going for him — and Howell was superb. 
When he was asked to explain what he meant about the Sasso- 
ferato paragraph — there was no hesitation. Sassoferato was a 
painter with whom he had absolutely no sympathy — he was too 
sincere an admirer of this great master and that to stoop to Sasso- 
ferato. But it only showed what a fine, unquestionably authentic 
Sassoferato it was that it should have excited him to so strong an 
expression of opinion. And again he was complimented! 
"When Rossetti was painting Mrs. William Morris, she was at 
work embroidering a design of Rossetti's on some hangings. And 
there she sat, day after day, embroidering, until, at last, the curtain 
was finished and Howell — the Owl, as they called him — hung it 
up between Mrs. Morris' bed and Morris'. But it was too short, 
about a foot from the floor and Howell came to tell Rossetti. 
What was to be done? It was a foot from the floor, and some night 
Morris would crawl under! 'He would not dare!' Rossetti de- 
clared, bringing his fist down on the table with a bang. Rossetti," 
Whistler added, "was a prince among parasites." 
Burne-Jones was painting and drawing and sketching one of the 
Greek colony and there were dreadful times. But Howell managed 
62 [1900 



Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 
(See pages 34 and 295) 

Charles Augustus Howell 

to bring her and Mrs. Burne- Jones together, and they were friendly, 
and all was pleasant. But the first time 'Ned' saw the two 
together, he fainted, and in falling struck his forehead against the 
mantel. 'And,' said Howell, with his last convincing touch — the 
touch of realism only he could have invented — 'whenever it's 
damp, he feels it here,' pointing to his temples. 

Whistler this evening was absorbed in Howell and Howell's friends, 
and so perhaps, before going further we had better explain one 
casual reference and say that Augustine, whom he honoured by 
bracketing her with Disraeli, was for twenty years our housekeeper, 
cook, and general guardian. She is the only person we know who 
was not afraid to scold Whistler when he was late for dinner or 
whenever it seemed to her he deserved it. And Whistler never 
resented her scolding. He thought her as a cook an artist, as a 
Frenchwoman he understood her. There was always a little talk 
with her in the hall before he was ushered in to us. 
Howell needs no explanation — Charles Augustus Howell who 
figures in the letters, and affairs of Swinburne, Rossetti, Ruskin, 
Burne-Jones, as well as of Whistler, who has been much written 
about of recent years in the general raking-up of Pre-Raphaelite 
gossip, most recently of all by Dr. G. C. Williamson who devotes 
a long chapter to his adventures in Murray Marks and His Friends. 
Howell is said to have penetrated even into the Bishop of London's 
palace at Fulham to improve the Bishop's taste in furniture and 
things, and there, on the Episcopal grounds, to have introduced 
Menpes to Whistler — which is, at least, an amazing tale. Even 
Whistler did not exhaust the inexhaustible stories told of him. One 
we remember is of complications as to the ownership of forty blue 
pots and a demand from the courts that they should be produced. 
Howell arrived, leading a procession of forty four-wheelers, each 
containing one of the precious pots, and he won his case and was 
complimented as usual by the judge, given back the pots, and 
awarded damages, including the cost of the four-wheelers. Howell 
was proud of his success in court. After the Ruskin trial, he said 
he thought he could really have won the case had he been sub- 
poenaed as witness. "Yes," said Whistler, "had you been a witness 
you would have won and we would all have been in Newgate!" 
Another story we had from Robert Ross: 

October 22nd, igo6. Whistler, one day when the talk was of the 
Oratory and what it ought to be, made a sketch of his idea for it. 
1900] 63 

The Whistler Journal 

The sketch was thrown aside and thought of no more. Then a 
fearfully hard-up moment came for all the group, no money to be 
had anywhere. Howell said he would see what he could do, the 
sketch suddenly reappeared, he carried it to Attenborough, the 
pawn-broker, returning with more money than any of them had 
ever yet pawned their work for. Time went on, the sketch was 
not redeemed, was altogether forgotten, until Whistler, passing 
Attenborough's, discovered it in the window, described as Michael 
Angelo's first drawing for St. Peter's, with a huge price tagged on 
to it. Howell's success was explained. 

Of what time will do for a story, we had an amusing example when 
this one returned to us, Robert Ross quoted as authority, though 
the drawing had become one of the Louvre by Whistler which Jo 
tried to sell to Sir Sidney Colvin for the British Museum as a 
sketch of the Parthenon by Michael Angelo. 

Whistler always spoke of Howell in a kindly way, despite his 
games, for Whistler loved the fantastic, the picturesque in people, 
and he found Howell vastly diverting. "I think that, criminally 
speaking, the Portuguee is an artist," is the opinion he published 
in The Paddon Papers, and, as this pamphlet is little known and 
is so rare that it is not likely to be better known, we quote from it 
another of his reasons for gratitude. Howell, he said, was the 
inspiration of "one of my most brilliant things — at least I am told 
so." Mitford [Lord Redesdale] rebuked Whistler for going about 
recklessly with Howell, for being seen walking down Bond Street 
with him: "My dear Whistler, even you cannot brave the people 
longer. Howell, you know, is a robber." "Well, my dear Mitford," 
Whistler said, "so was Barabbas!" 

In a package of letters, out of the same shop from which so many 
sensational discoveries and unknown masterpieces emerged a few 
years ago, were testimonials to Howell's talents and ability signed 
by Rossetti, Millais, Whistler, and others of the group, and 
Whistler's we have seen. In it he testified to Howell's qualifica- 
tions as a man of business and his practical knowledge of art. This 
was dated 1872, but Howell was of most use to Whistler during the 
difficulties that ended in the bankruptcy, taking debts upon his own 
shoulders, signing notes, accepting responsibilities. We suspected 
that his success in his railway case, though Whistler seemed to credit 
it — "gained with thousands," he wrote to Lazenby Liberty — was 
part of Howell's flamboyant invention,until the bankruptcy papers 
64 [1900 

Charles Augustus Howell 

came into our possession. It is only fair to say that they show 
Howell in a more favourable light than that in which he is 
usually seen. He was deep in difficulties of his own — "It's all the 
devil as I am worried to death," he wrote to Anderson Rose, 
Whistler's solicitor. He had to leave his Fulham house, with 
nowhere to go, and one shilling to every ten everybody required, 
"still I am most anxious to see Jimmie out of the mess and will 
do all I can." One thing he did do is in another letter to Rose — 
he met a bill given to the irrepressible Mr. Nightingale, builder of 
the White House and one of Whistler's most importunate creditors 
"with the money out of my railway verdict now about to be paid." 
One of the humours of the bankruptcy, we might add, is Night- 
ingale's entreaty to Anderson Rose, through his own solicitor, to 
be informed what this Air. Charles Augustus Howell was, anyhow, 
which most people who had anything to do with Howell were apt 
to want to know. But despite an occasional flash of humour, the 
correspondence, which came into our hands after the sixth edition 
of the Life had gone to press, is so tragic that it has made us 
wonder more than ever how Whistler survived the anxiety and 
endless interruptions of writs and bailiffs and complicated bank- 
ruptcy proceedings. 

Of course Howell was not wholly disinterested. His trouble was 
not without its reward. He made money by pawning some of 
Whistler's pictures, by selling others. There were times when 
Whistler, hard up, sold them to him for a song, times when they 
came into his possession by accident. Once when Mr. Croal 
Thomson asked Whistler to sign a painting of Selsey Bill Sands, 
Whistler refused — he painted it when Nature was in a shocking 
state — it was a scrap he left at Howell's who ought to have thrown 
it in the fire instead of keeping it. This was when he was staying 
with Howell at Selsey Bill where we know he made an etching and 
at least one water-colour. Howell must also have been repaid by 
Josey's three mezzotint reproductions, for the circulars are in his 
name and his Fulham house is the address given to subscribers. 
The etchings acquired in one way or another, were a further source 
of profit. One firm of dealers told us of plates he sold them when 
Whistler was in Venice and of the "terrible row" when Whistler 
was written to. At the press view of the Menpes collection, in 
the Leicester Galleries, 1903, Ernest G. Brown said to E. that the 
collection was mainly Howell's, yet no one knew how. Howell 
realized its value even in days when the prints sold for little. 
Brown wished to buy some of them, but Howell said no; only 
when the United States Government was willing to pay three 

1900] 65 


The Whistler Journal 

thousand pounds for the entire collection, would he part with them. 
It might be well to recall that in England, in 1920, at Christie's, 
The Second Venice Set alone sold for over three thousand pounds. 
Howell, in Menpes' debt, left the prints with Menpes as security, 
he died while they were still there, Menpes kept them in settlement 
of the debt, and Brown thought Menpes would make five or six 
thousand pounds — they were selling for enormous prices — the 
Mother for two hundred and fifty pounds. Before the exhibition 
closed, in another moment of confidence, Brown said he had made 
about ten thousand pounds for Menpes, so that had the United 
States Government bought at Howell's price, it would not have 
made so bad a bargain. 

Among the Menpes prints were a few lithographs, probably only 
part of Howell's collection, according to T. R. Way: — 

September 25th, iqo6. Howell used to come to Wellington Street 
with Whistler almost always for a while and, watching the proofs 
come off the press, would say, "This is for me, Whistler, and this, 
and this — " and Whistler never objected. And Way seemed to 
think it was not much in return for all Howell did for Whistler. 
The Ways stood around also, and Howell advised them to keep 
proofs of the lithographs. "See that you keep them all, Tom, 
and some day you will be glad enough." And Tom did, he thought 
his must be the only complete set, but it probably was not complete. 
He had not the French ones, though these Whistler was decent 
enough to try and get for him in Paris. His father too kept proofs 
and gave those he had to the British Museum. Others of the 
family and employes had numbers of them. And prints were 
always turning up in the shop. Whistler's letters were turned 
into money by Howell. Way assured us that not only his father 
was interested in Whistler, but also his father-in-law, a Mr. Cox, 
a stock-broker. Howell had a wonderful collection of letters from 
the various artists with whom he was intimately associated, and 
almost all of these, except Whistler's, passed into the hands of 
Fairfax Murray. Whistler's did not, for this reason — Way's 
father-in-law found in an old second-hand shop two albums full 
of Whistler's letters to Howell, carefully arranged and pasted 
in, a few sketches and other things with them, even dishonored 
66 [1900 

Charles Augustus Howell 

cheques and letters written as a child to his Mother. Mr. Cox 
said this would never do. Such things should not be wandering 
about. He bought the two volumes for fourteen pounds, and wrote 
and told Whistler, who immediately asked him to bring them to the 
studio, just as they were, that together they might choose sketches 
or destroy letters. Mr. Cox removed some of the sketches before 
going, but gave him the books, and was given etchings for them. 
One paper showed that Leyland was paid after the bankruptcy 
five shillings in the pound and Mr. Cox thought Whistler would 
not care to have that seen. But Whistler said, on the contrary, it 
showed that the creditors were paid! These documents, therefore, 
unless they were destroyed, must be in Miss Philip's possession. 

Another thing Mr. Cox found in the pawn shop, bought, and told 
Whistler about, was the Gold Medal awarded to Whistler in 
Amsterdam. Walter Sickert was in the studio and Whistler turned 
to him and asked why he had neglected to pay the interest, or 
whatever it is called. And Sickert shrugged his shoulders as only 
answer, for how could he? — there was no money. The Medal 
went into Mr. Morrison's collection. 

We asked Miss Chambers, mentioned by Whistler in the same 
evening's talk, an artist, one of Howell's executors, if she knew 
anything of this album and the documents in it. "Howell," was her 
answer, "sometimes borrowed money upon letters and other manu- 
scripts from a bookseller called Coalford, whose shop disappeared 
some years ago from the Strand, a little west of Drury Lane." She 
could not say if any of Whistler's letters were among them. But 
the fact that Howell at times pawned letters helps to explain how 
Whistler's got into the pawnshop, especially as some of them 
were to Howell. 

Altogether, after everything that can be has been said for Howell, 
he does not strike us as blameless in his relations with Whistler 
and probably nobody was more conscious of it than himself. 
Another of Ernest G. Brown's recollections was of Howell's dis- 
comfort in Whistler's presence after the Paddon affair. He took 
Howell to have a drink at a bar near the Gallery, where Howell 
confessed his fear of Whistler, saying he would be sure to show it 
if they met. As he spoke, his face turned white, and Brown heard 
a loud "Ha! ha!" and saw Whistler coming in at the door. 
1900] 67 

The Whistler Journal 

Howell had a few friends who never ceased to believe in him. Miss 
Chambers never wavered in her admiration and confidence. When 
we were preparing the Life and she consulted his diary for us, she 
spoke of him with enthusiasm and swept aside every charge against 
him. It is in Howell's favour that whatever his rogueries, he was 
a pleasant rogue capable of inspiring in some people a confidence 
unshaken by his shadiest transaction. E. can quote another of his 
enthusiastic admirers: — 

February 8th, igoy. Calling on Mrs. [afterwards Lady] Donkin, 
met there Mrs. Jenner, who said she had just been to the Old 
Masters Show at the Royal Academy with her oldest friend, Miss 
Chambers, and Miss Chambers had been talking to her about our 
Life of Whistler. This led her to speak of Howell whom she and 
her husband knew well, liked and believed in. He was the soul of 
honour, generosity itself, the most amusing of men. Because of 
some entanglement with a woman — he swore never to tell the story 
— he got into all his troubles. It was the reason of his misunder- 
standing with Ruskin. Honour forbade him to tell the story and 
he left Ruskin with his honesty in question. A bad name sticks 
to a man and so he got the reputation for dishonesty, until in the 
end he might, possibly with business men, have not been, strictly 
speaking, straight in his transactions. But he always was with 
artists and his friends. There were tales of him in connection with 
a society and its funds, and he was examined by a doctor, a barris- 
ter, and a parson, and came out "without a stain on his character." 
Though he wouldn't give the facts of his entanglement to Ruskin 
to clear himself, he confided them to Mr. and Mrs. Jenner, who 
cannot break confidence. No doubt, when he told a story, he had 
some sense of artistic finish, but that was why he was delightful. 
Anyway, while Whistler was treating him shockingly, Howell was 
keeping Whistler's illegitimate son from starvation — Howell's 
version this. He may, in Whistler's penniless moments, have 
advanced money to pay for the son whom we know Whistler looked 
out for as a child and launched in life. 

The talk with Miss Chambers was of such interest that we give it 
as it is in E's. note of the time, simply omitting facts and details 
used elsewhere: 

68 [1900 

Charles Augustus Howell 

January 12th, 1907. Went to see Miss Chambers, Howell's execu- 
trix. I found her a woman of about fifty, stout, pleasantly ugly, 
with no endeavor to dress so as to improve matters. She seemed a 
trifle nervous at first, or I may have imagined it. She showed me 
loose pages of an account of money received by Whistler and 
Maud and, in one or two cases, "Mrs. Abbott," from Howell . . . 
and a diary ... It is clear from the diary that in the late summer 
and autumn of 1877 Howell was again printing with Whistler. He 
was constantly going and coming with prints . . . On February 22, 
1878, Howell bought from Whistler for fifty pounds a large 
picture of apple blossoms, a sketch for Miss Alexander, one for a 
portrait of Greaves, a Nocturne — winter scene in Chelsea — a small 
framed Nocturne, Battersea — and eight frames. The journal 
gives an idea of Whistler living from hand to mouth, in a generally 
impecunious condition, from about the time of the quarrel with 
Leyland until the bankruptcy and the journey to Venice. Entries 
show Howell borrowing twenty shillings from "Alice," [Miss 
Chambers], to lend immediately fifteen to Whistler, or Whistler 
borrowing from Howell, who, to lend, had to borrow from Anderson 
Rose, who, in turn, had to borrow from his head clerk. Things 
were pawned — sometimes there are comments, as "lent ten pounds 
to Whistler, eight pounds to Maud, good girl Maud." On another 
occasion, he took twenty shillings out of his pocket to give Whistler, 
a half crown came with it, and Whistler said he might as well 
have that too. Howell finishes, "I walked home, damn him." 
Another time after an affair of the same kind, "selfish fellow 
Whistler," — and again, he took gold out of his pocket, and "My 
God!" Whistler said. Miss Chambers regrets Howell's want of 
capital — had he only had capital, he might have done anything . . . 
. . . Among the pictures Howell had was one of Whistler in the 
studio, and it was left with eight or nine drawings, as security 
with a lawyer. While it was there, stuck up against the wall in 
the office, Whistler came in; "Why," he said, "there's the portrait 
I did of myself." After Howell's death the picture, with the draw- 
ings, came to Miss Chambers. Two years before Whistler died, 
she took it to Robinson and Fisher's to be sold, and the drawings 
1900] 69 

The Whistler Journal 

too, putting a reserve price on them. In the middle of the sale, 
Whistler came in, declared the picture and the drawings were not 
by him, and the result was they did not sell. After Whistler's 
death the lawyer made a statutory declaration that Whistler said 
the picture was his work, it was sent again to Robinson and 
Fisher's and was sold for a comparatively small sum. [This is the 
story of the Dublin In the Studio that Sir Hugh Lane vowed was 
the original. And this is the first time the story has been told. 
The picture, owned by Douglas Freshfield and now in Chicago, 
is the original.] The drawings Miss Chambers left with the auc- 
tioneers for a few days after that first attempt, and when she went 
to get them, two or three had disappeared. She had also owned 
"The Pacific." When it was sold at auction, Whistler bought it. 
She saw a good deal of Whistler in those old days. He was con- 
stantly at Howell's. She never felt his charm particularly, he 
seemed to her tiresomely selfish and vain, but she always thought 
him what he called Howell, "an amusing cuss." 

Everybody knows Rosa Corder so well in Whistler's portrait as 
to forget she existed out of it. She was an artist, studied with 
Felix Moscheles, devoted herself chiefly to painting race horses, 
and is said to have aided Howell in copying old paintings and draw- 
ings. We remember seeing an excellent copy by her of Millais' 
Vale of Rest hanging in Mrs. Warr's drawing-room in Earl's Terrace, 
London. But her claim to fame rests upon the fact that she posed 
to Whistler for one of his most beautiful portraits. 


Sunday, July ist, igoo. Whistler called in the morning to see J. 
who got back on Friday, unexpectedly. In good form and eager 
to look at the drawings which J. refused to show. Uncertain 
whether he could come and dine in the evening or not, with the 
result that we got back from the Mur^s, where we had gone for 
the afternoon and were expected to stay to supper — as soon as 
possible. But about eight, came a note from O'K. saying he was 
too tired, but might come later. Toward ten both appeared, 
70 [1900 

V ST.- 



The Murray Marks Collection 
(See Appendix I, page 302) 





In the possession of Pickford R. Waller, Esq. 
(See page 306) 




Library of Congress, Washington 

(See Appendix I, page 306) 

Early Paris Memories 

Herbert Gilchrist, who had been at the school in Paris, having 
called in the meanwhile. This was, evidently, an element Whistler 
found antagonistic, and he slept part of the time, and said little 
the rest. 

The Muras are Mr. Frank Mura, the distinguished American 
painter, and his wife who died a few years since. They were then 
living in Greenwich. We remember their disappointment for they 
counted on our staying. Our hurrying back shows how unwilling 
we were to miss any chance of the usual talk with Whistler — no 
talk at all this evening, as it turned out. 

Herbert Gilchrist was the son of Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Gilchrist, 
authors of the Life of Blake. He was rather old for a student when 
he went to the Academie Carmen, several years having passed 
since he studied in the Royal Academy Schools. He also studied 
with Chase in America, where he went with his mother on her 
extraordinary journey to offer herself in marriage to Walt Whit- 
man, only to be refused and to remain his friend. Gilchrist 
objected to the methods of the Academie Carmen, his manner had 
all the English pomposity carried to an extreme, and it is easy to 
understand why Whistler was little in sympathy with him. 

Wednesday, July 4th. Wrote and asked Whistler and O'K. to dinner 
to celebrate J's. birthday and the Glorious Fourth. But, as J. 
was obliged to go to a meeting of the Society of Illustrators at 
half past eight, must ask them for seven. They came, but, of 
course, not at seven. Whistler was full chiefly of The Architectural 
Review which has not yet paid him and of a fine letter he wrote to 
Wilson. Could it be the same Mr. Wilson who was on the Com- 
mittee of the International? Hardly possible! Indignant with J. 
who, even on an occasion of this kind, with Madame everything 
that was charming, would not make himself beautiful. 
J. left to his great indignation, and later, John Lambert came in. 
Delighted with Lambert's story of Carolus. The Jury at the Paris 
Exposition decided that the First Medals for Painting should not 
be announced until all the other Medals were awarded. But 
somehow, some leaked out, and the names got into the papers. 
Carolus, who had been coming to the meetings in gorgeous clothes, 
appeared one morning just after this resplendent in a flowered 
1900] 71 

The Whistler Journal 

waistcoat. When the Jury met, he took the chair, and with his 
eye on the American jurors said there had been indiscretions among 
some of the members. Harrison was up like a shot: "Apropos 
des indiscretions, Messieurs, regardez le gilet de Carolus!" Whistler 
was delighted, but had not known Harrison was so equal to 
an occasion. 

O'K. said something about Millet, whose early work was good, 
but he married a wife and had to manage to make both ends meet. 
Whistler was indignant. "The artist's work is never better, never 
worse, it must be always good, in the end as in the beginning, if 
it is in him to do anything at all, and he would not be influenced 
by the chance of a wife or anything of that kind." 
It was not one of his brilliant evenings. Lambert, evidently 
prepared to worship, was a trifle ponderous and serious, with 
depressing effect, and the party broke up early. 

Whistler's habit was to dress for dinner. We can recall but few 
instances when he was willing to come to us, informal though we 
were, straight from the studio or wherever he might happen to be: 
one reason he was always late. We were less formal and he resented 
it, or pretended to, especially when the occasion for a dinner, as 
on the Fourth of July, which is also J's. patriotic birthday, sug- 
gested formality. 

The Architectural Review, started shortly before, was a monthly 
founded by a Mr. Abram whose ambitions were great. He wanted 
to publish only the best, or he would not have wanted Whistler, 
whose fine lithograph of St. Anne's, Soho appeared in his Review. 
At times its finances did not keep pace with his ambitions, and 
payment was not always prompt, and promptness was a condi- 
tion upon which Whistler insisted. Harry Wilson was then 
editor of The Architectural Review and a member of the Council 
of the International. 

John Lambert was a Philadelphia artist of promise who died too 
young to have made a name outside of Philadelphia. We need 
hardly say that the Carolus of his story was Carolus Duran, and 
the Harrison, Alexander Harrison. If Lambert was ponderous, 
we have been told since by one of his friends, it was because he 
worshipped in fear and trembling. He was overcome by meeting 
the man who to him was supreme among modern artists. He 
turned white and half the time had not a word to say. 

72 [1900 

Early Paris Memories 

Nothing could be more characteristic than Whistler's answer to 
Mr. Kennedy about Millet. His theory, his belief, his ardent 
conviction, was that the quality of an artist's work could not 
change. There might be degrees in this quality, but the quality 
itself must be always there from his first painting or print to his 
last. He was quick to pounce upon friend or enemy who ventured 
to hold or suggest the opposite opinion, and the subject roused 
him often to eloquence, often to wrath. We have not forgotten 
his indignation when he asked J. to go and look at his Carmen at 
the exhibition of the Portrait Painters' Society in 1895, an ^ ]•■> 
in his enthusiasm, declared he had never seen anything like it. 
What did he mean ? Whistler wanted to know. The Miss Alexander 
was like it, so was the Nocturne J. was reproducing for A London 
Garland, so was the Mother at the Luxembourg. People might be 
a long time in finding it out, but all his paintings were alike — only, 
the Carmen was finer. This was one of the times when he said he 
was "mortally offended," but was as prompt to make his peace 
with J. as to take offence. Lavery offended no less once when, 
talking, of V Art Nouveau, the precursor of the Isms and Ists, he 
ventured to define it. Whistler would hear of no definition — "There 
is — there can be — no Art Nouveau — there is only Art I" 

Thursday, July 5th. To Mrs. Ohl's to dinner. No one else there 
but Whistler, who was fairly prompt. A grey evening, the sky 
heavy as lead, no air anywhere, a suggestion of thunder, and we 
were all exhausted. Whistler fell back on the papers, eager about 
the Chinese business, rejoicing in the turn affairs were taking. 
As for the report of the massacre of the Ministers in Pekin "Well, 
it is the Chinese way of doing things and there is nothing to redress. 
Better to lose whole armies of Europeans than harm one blue pot!" 
J. told of Zug's performance as instructor' of art in Paris, a sort of 
Cook to conduct personally parties through the Grand Palais des 
Beaux-Arts, and his request that J. would allow his name to be 
used on the circular. "When a man writes and tells me that my 
name will be useful to him," Whistler said, "why then I write and 
say it's time for me to change it!" 

Zug is Mr. George B. Zug who has now become a great Professor 
of Art in a small college in the United States. 

1900] 73 

The Whistler Journal 

Sunday, July 8th. Dined with Kennedy and Whistler at Garlant's. 
Whistler late and when he came in, it was clear something was 
wrong. He seemed suddenly to have grown old. His hair lay 
flat, his forehead was a network of wrinkles, his cheeks had fallen 
and were flabby and pale, and when he talked, all life and gaiety 
and fun had gone. He was interested when we told him of the 
United States officer — Captain Hunter — fresh from West Point, 
who had called on us in the afternoon. West Point was the stand- 
ard. But it was like the shadow of his talk. The one rally was 
when he talked of Fagan, whom he had not seen for a long while. 
There was some little discussion as to who Fagan was — a Jew? 
No, because his father, of course, was Panizzi of the British 
Museum — or rather his uncle. Whistler's Secretary Grimaldi, he 
said, had been to the British Museum to see to something for him 
and had difficulty about getting his ticket. He should have got 
it without asking, Grimaldi said, was he not the nephew of Panizzi? 
"Clearly," was Whistler's comment, "the twin of Fagan." 
Later on, J. talked to him about the book, but of this talk I heard 
little. He said, when Kennedy regretted that he did not seem up 
to the mark, that he was not and for this once we must bear with 
him. He followed us down when we left and stood on the steps, 
looking as if he had forgotten why he was there, or, indeed, that 
he was there. And I carried away such an impression of him as 
I have never had before — of Whistler suddenly grown old and thin 
and shrunken and sad. 

On this evening at Garlant's dinner was served in a dining-room 
upstairs, on the second floor, where we had never dined before. 
We learned afterwards that it was Whistler's sitting-room once 
when he stayed at Garlant's with Mrs. Whistler. He had not been 
in it since, and no doubt this fact accounts for his extreme melan- 
choly. We remember evenings when he came to us sad and de- 
pressed, especially during the first year after Mrs. Whistler's 
death, but never another evening when nothing could lift the 
depression or make him forget the sadness. 

Fagan was Louis Fagan, an official in the Print Room of the British 
Museum. Panizzi probably did more than any other Librarian 
to make the Library of the British Museum what it is. Grimaldi 

74 [ x 9 00 

Early Paris Memories 

was one of the several secretaries Whistler picked up during these 
years. The wonder was where he found them and why he employed 
them, of so little use did they seem to him. 

Wednesday, July nth. An early visit from Whistler, who says he 
will come this evening to meet our West Point man, Captain 
Charles M. Hunter, and his wife, who are fresh from the Academy, 
after a four years' term and are over here on a holiday before going 
to San Francisco. 

When they came in the evening — before him, of course — they were 
delighted at the chance of meeting him. He has become a tradition 
at West Point, where on a certain stairway, hung with the work 
of cadets, his drawings hold a place of honour. He was a little late, 
and was more than usually cordial and distinguished and elegant 
— the West Point officer in perfection. At dinner, naturally, the 
first talk was of the Chinese. "Here are these people, thousands 
of years older in civilization than we, with a religion thousands 
of years older than ours, and our missionaries go out there and 
tell them who God is! It is simply preposterous, you know, that 
for what Europe and America consider a question of honour, one 
blue pot should be risked." 

There were two moments when West Point failed him. He asked 
Captain Hunter of what branch he had been professor "Artillery 
Tactics, no doubt?" — he is in the Third U. S. Artillery — and 
Captain Hunter said, "No, French and English." We rather 
gasped at that, but as Whistler said afterwards, it was better not 
to pursue the matter. The other moment: talking of the Boers, 
and after he quoted the instances he loves about Buller, Roberts 
and the rest, some one asked Captain Hunter what West Point 
thought of the blunders at the opening campaign. "Oh," he said, 
"it was what always happened with Generals who had not had that 
sort of experience for years, what happened at Santiago when two 
divisions of the U. S. Army were drawn up so that, if they had 
fired, they must have shot each other down." This, Whistler passed 
over, and was on safer ground when he asked about West Point 
and the changes that had been made. He seemed to remember 
the buildings in every possible detail. He was disgusted when 
1900] 75 

The Whistler Journal 

he heard that the cadets now play football. "They should hold 
themselves apart and not allow the other colleges and universities 
to dispute with them for a ball kicked round the field — it is beneath 
the dignity of officers of the United States." The Hunters were 
certainly appreciative and understood enough to be appreciative 
in the right places. But there was another shock when the Captain 
explained that his wound at Porto Rico was the result of his going 
out with some other officers to dinner one evening and putting on 
white trousers when the army weren't wearing them, and being 
shot in consequence, by the American sentry when he came back 
to camp. But, on the whole, it seemed to me that just as we are 
more American than the Americans who stay at home, so Whistler 
is more West Point, according to his notion of it, than the men who 
have never come out of it. 

We remember that the next day Captain Hunter was suddenly 
ordered off to China. He had no uniform, as he was in Europe on 
leave, and he was forced, to get one at once in London. He went 
for it to the Army and Navy Stores. His delight was great, and 
he refused to make any change, when it was sent to him with the 
bronze letters S. U., instead of U. S., on the collar. Whistler, 
when we told him, was even more pleased with the ignorance and 
invention of the Islanders. 

Thursday, July 12th. Dined at the Fisher Unwins. Whistler, 
Mr. and Mrs. Hilaire Belloc, and Mrs. Maurice Hewlett there. 
Whistler was quite away from where I sat, so that I saw nothing of 
him during dinner, but Mrs. Hewlett said afterwards he had been 
telling her extraordinary things about niggers and Boers, and 
Belloc was insisting that at every house he went to he met only 
Pro-Boers, that everybody really was Pro-Boer, and he, because 
of his disgust for the English outburst over the Dreyfus case, was 
in sympathy with the Boers; and so was Mrs. Belloc, who despite 
an extraordinary gown of blue silk and white sort of cloak that 
hung loose and shapeless, and made her back view suggest a High 
Priest of some strange Oriental sect, was as sensible. Mrs. Hewlett, 
in Empire dress, said she was frankly out of it, but she thought 
76 [1900 

Early Paris Memories 

she ought to be just a little offended at being made to feel by 
Whistler — I don't know how, for I did not hear the talk — that she 
was just a plain, bourgeois, middle-class person, when everybody 
else thought she was just the other thing. 

We stayed on after the others. Whistler admitted to a passing 
shock when he heard of the French and English professorship at 
West Point, but it was only passing. The Captain was, after all, 
West Point. He was pleased at their telling him how he was 
remembered there and how the old officers who had been at West 
Point at the same time often spoke of him, but liked less well the 
reminder that his was the class of '54. He and J. and I started 
home together, but could find no four-wheeler, and so had to break 
up into two hansoms. 

Saturday, July 14th. Went to tea in Whistler's studio, Fitzroy 
Street. Mrs. Ohl and her little girl, Mr. and Mrs. Louis Fagan, 
Miss Philip, Kennedy, and an American artist, Elwell, there. "We 
have been having splendid news," was his greeting to me, and he 
began to read the leader in Thursday's Star, about the taking of 
an Irish squadron and the Lincolns, by the Boers at a kopje com- 
paratively near Pretoria. 

Mr. Fagan had a story of a drawing brought to him by some one 
who declared it to be by Frith. He saw at once that, though 
immature and boyish, it was something of importance, and he 
wrote to Frith that he had something to show him, and Frith 
came promptly the next morning, and explained that it was a 
drawing he made when he was six years old! "It must have been 
then he tossed up!" Whistler suggested. 

He showed us some of the things he has been doing lately — his 
portrait of Miss Philip in hat and boa close round her throat — 
the Little Lady Sophie that he has worked on since the International 
last year, giving it finer colour and tone, the Lillie in Our Alley, 
pastels of the nude, and then some of the marines — water colours 
he did at Dieppe. I left them all there, to find later that the 
contrast between Mrs. Ohl, the Southern woman, and Mrs. Fagan, 
the British matron, delighted him enormously. 
1900] 77 

The Whistler Journal 

The present generation may have forgotten not Frith, for it is 
said that the British art lovers at the National Gallery continue to 
pass Whistler's Little White Girl to stare at Frith's Derby Day, 
but Frith's explanation of the "toss-up" it had been whether or 
no he was to become an artist, his father wanting him to be an 
auctioneer. Whistler made use of this in the report of the Ruskin 
trial published in Art and Art Critics. But his personal opinion of 
Frith for testifying against him did not extend to all of Frith's art. 
For one day, walking through the National Gallery with J., Whistler 
stopped before the Derby Day, then hung in a Modern British Room, 
and pointing to the Grand Stand and the distant crowd, he said 
"How did he do it? It's as good as Manet." And when J. told 
it to Frith, Frith was nearly paralyzed, though we doubt if he 
knew who Manet was. 

Sunday, July 15th. Dined at Garlant's Hotel with Whistler, the 
last little dinner of four before Kennedy's departure, he having 
put off going for a day, so we could have the parting celebration. 
Of course, it was about half past eight when we sat down. Whistler 
was in fine form. J. asked him how he got on at Short's on Friday, 
where he went to print some of his Paris plates. "Well, I pulled 
nineteen prints. Once I started, all the joy in it came back again, 
and I got through by lunch time." J. thought he would have been 
at it all day, and, indeed, when Short did not turn up at the Art 
Workers' Guild on Friday evening, supposed the printing was 
still going on. "H'm, h'm," Whistler said, "well, you know, my 
consideration for others quite equals my own energy." 
He was in a reminiscent mood. Told the story of The Piano 
Picture. "It was the second picture I painted. The first was the 
Mere Gerard, done in Paris, which I gave to Swinburne. In The 
Piano Picture my sister, then Mrs. Haden, is sitting at the piano, 
her little girl standing by it, and I gave it to Haden — in a way. 
Well, you know, it was hanging there but I had no particular satis- 
faction in that. Haden just then was playing the authority on art 
and he could never look at it without pointing out its faults — and 
telling me it would never get into the Academy — that was certain. 
But after it had been for awhile on Haden's walls I did send it to 
the Academy and it was hung, and Phillip, the R. A., back from 
78 [19 00 



Freer Collection, National Museum 
(See page 235) 





Formerly in the Canfield Collection 

<: — I ., y 

.- -i J'<-1! 


ETCHING. M. 423 

!__-- - '. 


ETCHING. M. 427 

Freer Collection, National Museum, Washington 

Early Paris Memories 

Spain with, well, you know, Spanish notions about things, asked 
who painted the picture, and they told him a youth no one knew 
about, who had appeared from no one knew where. Phillip looked 
up my address in the Catalogue and wrote to me at once to say 
he would like to buy it, and what was its price? I answered in a 
letter which I am sure must have been very beautiful. I said 
that in my youth and inexperience I did not know about these 
things and would leave to him the question of price. Phillip sent 
me thirty pounds. [When the picture was last sold, to Edmund 
Davis, it brought two thousand, eight hundred.] Haden did some- 
times buy my work, you know, my dear sister was in the house 
and women have their ideas about things, and so I did what she 
wanted to please her — and for the Ice picture — The Thames in Ice, 
The Twenty-Fifth of December — Haden gave me ten pounds." But 
there came a time, when notwithstanding his sister in the house, 
things could not go on as they were. 

He lingered over the Chelsea days, Rossetti, Legros, all the won- 
derful things ! " Legros, I came upon in Paris, where, as a surprising 
youth suddenly appearing in the group of French students from 
no one knew where, with my Mere Gerard and The Piano Picture 
for introduction, I made friends with Fantin and Legros, men who 
had already arrived, and Courbet, whom they were all raving 
about, and who was very kind to me. I came upon Legros at one 
moment in so deplorable a condition that it needed, well, you know, 
God or a lesser person to pull him out of it. And so, I brought him 
over to London, andi for awhile he worked in my studio. He had 
before coming sold a church interior to Haden, a little interior of 
a church with kneeling figures of women. It was when Haden was 
etching and used to lock himself up in his room at the top of the 
house, glorying in the artist who let the surgery business slide. 
He liked Legros' picture, though he found the floor out of perspec- 
tive. One day he took it to the room upstairs where he did his 
etching and turned the key. When it reappeared, the floor was 
in perspective, according to Haden. A gorgeous frame was 
bought, and the picture was hung conspicuously in the drawing 
room, and left there, though Haden was just a bit restive when 
1900] 79 

The Whistler Journal 

he heard that Legros was in London. When Legros came with me 
to Haden's the first time, he was fearfully impressed with the frame, 
having been used to see himself in any shabby old frame that came 
his way. But gradually Haden's work dawned upon him. That 
he could not stand. What was he to do? Run off with it, I sug- 
gested. We got it down, called a four-wheeler, and carried it 
away to the studio — to our own little kopje — [for Whistler told 
the story in the days of the Boer war] — cleaned off Haden's work. 
Haden, in a rage when he discovered it had gone, hurried after us 
to the studio, but when he saw it on the easel, Legros repainting 
the perspective, well there was nothing to say." 
J. referred to the other piano picture Keppel told us about, the boy 
Haden at the piano, with head turned, still at Haden's, but 
Whistler knew nothing of it. The White Girl — the big one — was 
painted in Paris, and gave him a place among the Independants. 
In the portrait group by Fantin he is in the centre at the table, 
in front of Delacroix, holding a bunch of flowers — The Hommage 
a Delacroix in the Moreau Nelaton Collection in the Louvre. 
The Mere Gerard, he said, "I must have back from Swinburne. 
Time has changed the conditions of the gift, and therefore of 
course, as will be understood among gentlemen, the gift must 
be returned." 

Whistler went to Sir Frank Short, whom he rightly regarded as an 
eminent technician, to get proofs of his Paris plates. These were 
the plates that he bit and printed in Paris with J. But the ground, 
which he laid, was bad and came off, and the prints he pulled, 
after he bit them as far as he could, were in many places weak. 
Curiously, Whistler was afraid to re-ground them, or to allow 
Lamour, the old etching material maker in Paris, to do it, though 
Lamour offered to and sent Whistler and J. re-grounding rollers 
for the purpose. This was in 1 893, and it was not until 1900 that 
he did anything with the plates and then, as we have said, he went 
to Short, whom he trusted and who had a good press, rather than 
to Goulding, whose "little tricks" and "dodges" he thought of 
"the cheapest kind," while Sir Frank Short is the best technician 
in Great Britain. And these prints by Short, as far as we know, 
are the last that were pulled from Whistler's Paris plates. Short 
offered to re-ground them, but we do not think that Whistler let 
80 [1900 


U* o. D<\lrt . {\^u ^' la.U ■■ 



(Se e page Q3) 



Seymour Haden, left; Traer, centre; Lady Had en, right 


Early Paris Memories 

him do so. He did, however, after Whistler's death, bite a plate 
which mysteriously came into Way's or Walter Sickert's possession 
and which was later published. Mr. Mansfield has described it 
among the Attributions. Short, some years later, referred to this 
printing in a lecture on etching at South Kensington to which 
we went: — 

November 27th, IQ13. He dragged in Whistler with measured 
praise, though in the end he told how Whistler came to him to 
print his plates and how, when Short asked him about wiping the 
plates, Whistler said, "Wipe them as clean as you can — what was 
good enough for Rembrandt is good enough for me." The impres- 
sion given was that, at the last, this was the sort of printing 
Whistler wanted when, as J. said after the lecture, Whistler was 
just trying the plates to see what was in them — he never printed 
them after that or, no doubt, the results would have been different. 
Short is not the only Academician who can praise Whistler's 
work. Indeed, their praise sometimes makes one wonder why they 
did not show their appreciation practically and make him a 
member of their Academy. 

As for the Art Workers' Guild, their knowledge of Whistler was 
so slight that when, less than a year after Whistler's death, Way 
gave a talk about him, it was announced in the Guild's circular 
as a talk about "John McNeill Whistler and his Work." As 
Whistler said on another occasion, "the gentlemen might have 
asked." What Delatre in the early Paris days thought of Whistler's 
printing, he probably never let Whistler know, though he did not 
hesitate to tell others. Frederick Keppel had many amusing 
stories of Delatre who, he said, could not help what some people 
might think stealing and, as printer, kept his finest proofs for 
himself. Whistler knew this and determined to take his plates 
from Delatre. He brought them to Goupil's in Paris and made an 
arrangement to sell them the prints at a certain price. He had 
hardly gone when Delatre brought them prints of the same plates 
and asked about twice as much. They told him his price was far 
higher than Whistler's. "Yes," said Delatre, "but then my prints 
are far finer than his." To our regret, Delatre left no records or 
reminiscences with his son, also a printer. E. went to see the 
younger Delatre in search of information: — 

1900] 81 


The Whistler Journal 

May 14th, 1909. Though he was charming and friendly, he had 
nothing to tell me and apparently knew less about his father's 
printing for Whistler than we do. He said his father's old place 
was opposite to where I found him in the Rue Lepic, but up almost 
at the top of Montmartre and he had never heard of the printing 
house in the Rue St. Jacques described by the De Goncourts, of 
whose description he knew as little. In the later days he met 
Whistler who once or twice came en ami to shake the hand of an 
old friend. He could find only two letters from Whistler to his 
father, one written at Speke Hall, the other at the Hotel du Bon 
Lafontaine. He had never seen Whistler's etching of his father 
who, he feared, was careless in such matters and had not kept 
proofs of the plates he pulled. He was so amiable and so willing 
to tell anything and everything, it was the more provoking that 
he had nothing to tell. 

To go back to the rest of Whistler's long talk on the evening of 
July 15th. Colonel Hecker of Detroit now owns The Piano Picture. 
The Thames in Ice is in the National Collection at Washington. 
Both were bought by Mr. J. J. Cowan for two thousand pounds 
from Sir Seymour Haden. Mr. Croal Thomson, when giving us the 
information, thought Haden had bought back The Piano Picture 
at the Phillip sale after Phillip's death. McLure Hamilton in a 
long talk on the subject, pointed out to us a detail in The Piano 
Picture with an explanation that we believe has not occurred to 
most artists: — 

March 5th, 1909. Whistler's treatment 01 perspective in it — his 
giving a curve to a straight line so as to carry the eye into the room. 
The wainscot, behind the piano and the pictures, curves downward 
and Mr. Hamilton was sure Whistler did this on purpose to take 
away from the austerity of the straight lines of the pictures above, 
and also because, after this gentle curving towards the centre, the 
lines of the wainscot lead one's eyes far into the room from 
either side and so express the size or space. I was particularly 
interested because, at the Whistler A^emorial Exhibition shortly 
before this talk with Mr. Hamilton, Humphry Ward tried to 
prove to me that the wainscot curved because Whistler could not 
82 [1900 





(See page 91) 

Early Paris Memories 

draw — the critic does not see with the eyes of the artist. All the 
same, the curve is a mistake. However explained, it hits you 
and therefore the picture is not finished according to Whistler's 
teaching that in the finished work all traces of how it is done must 
be obliterated. The use of this curve, whether designed or an 
accident, is not a success and we regret never having asked him 
about it. 

Whistler's friendship with Legros and Fantin — their "Society of 
Three" — was one of the pleasantest episodes of his early years and 
his letters to Fantin, some of which M. Benedite, Conservateur du 
Luxembourg, published in the Gazette des Beaux- Arts in 1905, are 
among his most interesting. His friendship was not all on paper. 
He was in a position to be of use to both and he turned it to the 
best account as Fantin always acknowledged. The clue to the 
deplorable condition in which he found Legros we had some years 
later from M. Oulevey, one of the little group of French students 
Whistler knew and loved. Legros' father had died leaving many 
debts and, according to French law, Legros was obliged to pay the 
creditors and he was without a sou. The creditors could have 
pursued him as a French citizen to London and, to protect himself, 
he was naturalized as promptly as possible, and not, as he himself 
used to say, "to be able to boast that he had gained the battle of 
Waterloo." Unfortunately, he and Whistler quarreled soon after 
he got to London. We wanted, naturally, to have Legros' mem- 
ories and impressions for the Life, but it was impossible. We were 
assured that M. Lanteri had more influence with him than any- 
body. When we asked him if he could and would use it for us, 
he hesitated, was afraid if Legros could be induced to say anything 
it would be coloured by his bitterness. Still he did what he could. 
Legros, however, would not speak. He had not even then forgiven 
Whistler, many as were the years that had passed and whatever 
the cause of the quarrel may have been. William Michael Rossetti, 
a mine of information, informed us that the cause was women and 
that he thought the details, which he wrote out for us, were unfit 
for publication, and he was right. The crisis came in the office of 
Mr. Luke Ionides, from whom we had an account of it. Whistler 
and Legros by chance dropped into the office the same afternoon. 
They were talking together when, suddenly, Ionides heard Legros 
say to Whistler, "You lie!" That was enough. Whistler knocked 
him down. Ionides did what he could to get them to make it up, 
1900] 83 

The Whistler Journal 

reminding them what good friends they had been. It was no use. 
Legros had another grievance against Whistler. Some one who 
wanted copies of pictures at Bath House consulted Rossetti, and, 
through Whistler, gave the commission to Fantin, and Legros 
thought it should have come to him; he could do the work as well 
as Fantin. Ionides suggested to Whistler that he should apologize 
to Legros. So did Rossetti. Whistler regretted the liberty taken 
with Ionides' office but grew wrathful at the suggestion of an 
apology. "A man gives you the lie to your face and you naturally 
strike him." It was a simple chastisement of a gross insult and he 
could not understand why everybody was so disturbed. And from 
that day we doubt if the two men ever spoke to each other, even 
ever met. If all Whistler's letters to Fantin are eventually pub- 
lished, the truth may come out, but Madame Fantin, in whose 
possession they still were the last time we saw her, said passages 
in them were not over friendly to Legros and these she felt should 
not be seen by the public. She promised them to us, but M. 
Benedite objected, saying she had promised them to him first 
and he intended publishing them, which he never has, and no use 
has yet been made of the letters. M. Benedite, arriving in America 
during the autumn of this year, was heralded by puffs of himself 
as the man who first discovered Whistler, who managed the first 
exhibition of Whistler's work, who bought the portrait of Whistler's 
Mother in the name of the French Government. Whistler and 
Whistler's work were known in Paris long before M. Benedite was 
heard of. Exhibitions were given by Whistler as early as 1874 when 
M. Benedite must have been still a boy. M. Benedite's name never 
appeared publicly in any of the transactions for the purchase of 
the Mother and we are not sure that he had any connection with 
the Luxembourg or even the French Government at the time. 
But M. Benedite was responsible for the Paris Memorial Show, as 
he might not have been had not J. and Lavery handed over the 
London Memorial show to him. And the Paris exhibition was 
disgracefully hung, in unsuitable rooms. M. Jacque Blanche said 
of it that, while the London exhibition made Whistler look like 
a great man who now and again made a mistake, the Paris exhibi- 
tion made him look like a little man who now and again did some- 
thing good." 
Finally, Whistler told George W. Smalley: 

"The French Government took the initiative step and le Ministre 
de Flnstruction Publique et des Beaux-Arts wrote himself direct to 
me personally, asking if I would ' ceder ce tableau au Gouvernement 
84 [1900 



Early Paris Memories 

Franfais' — and trusting that, in such case, my conditions might 
not prove an obstacle to its purchase. 

Such a demarche on the part of the Government is openly acknowl- 
edged to be quite unheard of and is equivalent to and universally 
accepted as an official engagement that the picture goes to the 
Louvre! — this is simply the greatest honour that can possibly be 
conferred upon an Artist — and it occurs to me in my lifetime! 
You may therefore write and congratulate me." 

And there is not one word of M. Benedite. 

There was no quarrel with Fantin who, after Whistler's death, 
wrote of him with real affection. Of Fantin's feelings as long as 
Whistler was alive, we have different versions. In the earlier years 
of their friendship he said in a letter to Mrs. Edwin Edwards that 
his love for Whistler was like that of a man for the mistress he 
adores despite the trouble she gives. But they drifted apart. 
Fantin was less often in London. When Whistler lived in the 
Rue du Bac he went occasionally to see Fantin, but Fantin never 
returned the visit, making the excuse that he had too much to do, 
he had no time for visits. This we heard from Madame Fantin, 
and M. Duret has confirmed it by describing Fantin's life to us as 
one of such complete retirement with his wife and her sister, that 
he probably would never have gone out at all had he not been 
something of a gourmet. It was to a shop where they kept the best 
Camembert cheese and another where they made the best patisserie 
that he took his daily walks. Once in the Eighties Whistler came 
to Fantin's with Maud, introducing her as the daughter of a friend 
whom he was seeing back to London. Then Madame Fantin said, 
they heard he behaved badly to her and it had made a difference 
with Mr. Lucas. But they knew nothing of it and Fantin was 
friendly and admired him to the end, which does not agree with 
another story we had from Keppel. After Whistler's death, Fantin 
could not understand why he did not hear again from Deschamps, 
at one time Durand Ruel's manager in London, who had written 
to him for us; he was willing to give all the information he could 
to Whistler's biographers — to us. 

Keppel's introduction to Fantin was an article about his lithographs 
which Keppel wrote for The Century. Fantin was pleased and Kep- 
pel, the next time he was in Paris, called, bringing with him a 
portfolio of prints he thought would be of interest to Fantin, as 
they were, none more so than Whistler's Bibi Lalouette, with its 
1900] 85 

The Whistler Journal 

memories. Keppel gave it to him. Fantin placed it carefully in a 
cupboard where he kept his prints, locked the door, put the key 
in his pocket. Half way across the studio, he stopped, hesitated, 
went back, unlocked the cupboard, took out the print and handed 
it to Keppel. "No," he said, "I cannot keep the work of a man 
for whose character I have so little respect." Probably the truth 
is that the two men were friends when they most needed each other. 
Two other early Paris friends and fellow students, Drouet and 
Oulevey, we met a few years after Whistler's death. Our talks 
with them rounded out so well our talks on his student days with 
Whistler in 1900 that we think it appropriate to quote here, almost 
in full, a note from a later volume of The Journal which records our 
meeting. We were in Paris in May, 1907, as usual for the Salons, 
but no work was then as important as getting together Whistler 
material. This is the note: 

Friday, May 10th, IQOJ. Went early to see Oulevey, whose address 
Drouet gave us with a card to him. Living in the Passage des 
Favorites, away at the other end of the Rue Vaugirard. Entrance 
through a gate into a garden. His apartment on the ground floor, 
immediately to the left. I was received by him, a little old man 
with wild, thin, long, white hair and straggling white beard and 
moustache, looking much older than Whistler, miserable and poor, 
but charming, with something in his manner that recalled Whistler. 
He spoke of Whistler with unmistakable affection. He was tout 
a fait un homme a part. Oulevey had been tres lie with him, knew 
him first when he lived in a hotel in the Rue St. Sulpice. Then at 
No. 1, Rue Bourbon-le-Chateau near St. Germain-des-Pres, then 
at Rue Campagne-Premiere. They used to eat often at Lalouette's, 
also at Madame Bachimont's in the Place de la Sorbonne, a sort 
of cremerie. Whistler took the American Consul to dine there 
once, and on that occasion gave a new hat to the daughter of the 
house, known as "Canichon," who was to dine with them. When 
he was in the Hotel, Rue St. Sulpice, a little girl lived with him, 
Fumette, in whom he was much interested because she knew 
Musset by heart and could recite the verses to him. He thought 
something should be done for a woman with such a gift. It was 
she who, in a rage one day when he was out, tore up drawings he 
86 [1900 

Early Paris Memories 

had made; not etchings, but drawings, something in the manner of 
Gavarni, of all sorts of people and things in the Quartier — des 
amoureux et des sujets presque enjantins. Whistler came home to 
find them torn to pieces and piled upon his table, and he was so 
unhappy Oulevey says he cried. In his unhappiness that evening, 
at the cafe, with Oulevey and Lambert, he drank too much Kirsch, 
and was quite tipsy. Whistler, by no means a buveur usually, 
became very gay and insisted that they should all go to supper 
in one of the open-all-night restaurants at the Halles. Oulevey 
represented the lateness of the hour and their penniless condition. 
But when Whistler took a thing into his head, he must do it — and 
Oulevey, seeing it was useless to argue, took two or three more 
glasses of Kirsch himself to be in the right frame of mind. Whistler 
said they must get money from Lucas. It was after one, but they 
went to where he lived, made the concierge open, and climbed up 
to his apartment. Oulevey and Lambert stayed in the shadows. 
Whistler knocked and knocked. After a long while, Lucas was 
heard shuffling to the door which he opened on the chain. There 
was an argument. Whistler said his concierge wouldn't give him 
his key to let him into his room until he paid his rent, and he hadn't 
a sou. Every now and then he threw a word back in French that 
they might know how things were going, and they were going badly. 
Lucas, no doubt, saw he had been drinking, and would give nothing. 
But they went on to the Halles and into one of the restaurants. 
They had twelve sous left. They ordered beer, and as they drank 
it, Whistler began complimenting the patron on his cuisine and its 
fame; they had come for un petit souper fin. The patron was 
delighted. But Whistler said it was not their habit to pay at the 
moment. The patron said it was not the habit of the house to be 
paid at any other time. So they went to another restaurant. Here, 
said Whistler, we shall say nothing about payment until we have 
eaten. And they ate their supper, all the while Whistler working 
himself up into a wild state of agitation about Lucas. He must 
challenge Lucas to a duel, and they must be his seconds. After 
their supper, he said as soon as le petit jour came, he would go and 
find money, and the three went to sleep. Oulevey woke up, and 
1900] 87 

The Whistler Journal 

saw that le petit jour had come, but Whistler slept on. Then 
Oulevey woke up again, said le grand jdur has come, and Whistler 
started to go. Oulevey again slept peacefully, for he had learned 
that when Whistler said he would do a thing he always did it. 
The next thing he knew, he was awake, it was late, and Whistler 
was sleeping at his side. "But you have not been," he said. "But 
I have," said Whistler, and he showed his pockets full of money, 
some three or four hundred francs. He had got it from an American 
friend who, Whistler said, abused the situation, insisting on Whist- 
ler's stopping to look at his pictures! On the way home, they 
passed the Cafe de France, and Whistler said they must have a 
refreshing drink, and they sat down outside. Presently they dis- 
covered Lucas who was to be killed in the duel, drinking his choco- 
late in a corner inside. But there was no more talk of a challenge. 
Another time, Whistler wanted cool drinks in a cafe just opposite 
his rooms in Rue Bourbon-le-Chateau, where they wouldn't give 
credit. It was summer — he could find no one to lend him money 
at the moment — he pawned his coat, and went about in his shirt 
sleeves for the next two or three days. 

Then there was a story of Drouet's heroic Gericault, intended for 
a certain town, but refused by the Mayor. A fellow student, 
Echery, a short, small man, had just died. " Tiens!" said Whistler, 
"erect it over Echery's grave." Drouet saw everything big. He 
designed a monument for a little girl, and the figure lying on the 
tomb was at least twelve feet long. When he was working on the 
Gericault, a moment came when there was no money to buy clay 
and it was all he could do to keep his huge monument covered 
with wet cloths while he waited. But at last money drifted in 
from somewhere, clay was bought, the cloths removed, and the 
monument had sprouted with mushrooms. What a chance, said 
Drouet. And he sold the mushrooms and gave them all a big 
dinner, and much wine was drunk and speeches made. Drouet 
has been for years doing a Joan of Arc and still is working on it in 
the studio, Oulevey said. Henri Martin was the son of the his- 
torian, a painter and a great deal with Whistler. In the Rue 
Campagne-Premiere, Whistler had a little hand press and pulled 
88 [1900 

Early Paris Memories 

his own prints, sometimes before the people who bought them. 
A rich American friend wanted one and came to the studio, and 
Whistler asked a good price for it. He got to work, prepared his 
plate, pulled a print. It wasn't good enough, he said, and he 
crumpled it up, and threw it in the ashes in the fireplace, and the 
next three or four were thrown after it. At last, he pulled one that 
would do, and, with every care, put it in a flat box, and the Ameri- 
can went off with it. No sooner had he gone than Whistler pounced 
upon the first print in the ashes, smoothed and pressed it. There, 
he said, is the best proof, and it is for me. It wasn't for the money- 
he did this sort of thing, but he seemed to see the humour of it. 
When he had money, he flung it away. The story of his copying 
in the Louvre, Oulevey told with some new touches. Whistler 
helped himself to a box of colours. The owner discovered and 
claimed it, but what more natural than the surprise of Whistler 
who supposed the boxes of colours were for general use. He was 
a man with un coeur de femme and la volonte d'un homme. In the 
Alsace journey he bought a little iron, and ironed his shirt and 
collar at night — always must be perfect in his dress. It was not 
vanity, but taste, le gout, that he brought to everything: his talk, 
his work, everything. Legros went to England because his father 
died deeply in debt . . . When Oulevey was in England about 
eight years ago, he wrote to tell Legros, an old friend. Legros no 
doubt thought, "here is an old comrade down on his luck who 
wants to come and sleep on my floor and live on me, and bohemian- 
ize as in the old days," and in a prompt answer he represented the 
impossibility for artists to sell anything in England, he himself 
sold everything in France, and regretted that he was just going 
away for an indefinite time. And Oulevey begged him in a polite 
letter: je vous prie de ne pas vie laisser vousfaire demenager — which 
enchanted Whistler. On that occasion Whistler furnished him 
with many letters and much advice. Oulevey lodged in a hotel 
with a cousin, where there were only merchants of meat, which 
Whistler told him would be disastrous — any small hotel in the 
French Quarter, Soho, would be a better address. Oulevey could 
remember nothing of the show at Bonvin's in 1859. But he remem- 
1900] 89 

The Whistler Journal 

bered Whistler once going to see Courbet and coming back and say- 
ing, c'est un grand homme! Cest un grand homme! Whistler would 
go to the bookstalls and shops and look over the old books and 
quietly tear out the blank sheets at either end and carry them 
off to print his etchings on. He never worked at Gleyre's, nor 
in the Louvre, nor anywhere that Oulevey can remember, but he 
was always making the sort of drawings that Fumette tore up. 
In the evening, Duret, Drouet and Keppel dined with us at the 
hotel — the Saint Romain — alone in an upstairs room. A bad 
dinner, abominably served, but an evening of wonderful talk. 
Drouet's stories and reminiscences were endless. Becquet, whom 
Whistler etched, was a sculptor from Besancon who died two or 
three months ago. Drouet was in great distress about it, felt 
himself responsible. He had had Becquet to dinner and Becquet 
drank half a bottle of wine and some cognac; it was too much for 
him in his feeble state, he died two or three days after, and Drouet 
never heard of it until he saw an account of the funeral in the 
papers. Becquet was a man loved by his friends, the best and 
greatest Drouet ever knew, but he was unsuccessful, unrecognized. 
He lived in his studio where there was nothing but disorder and his 
'cello, for he was a great musician. Whistler had not seen him 
since the etching was made in 1859, and Drouet arranged a dinner 
a few years before Whistler's death. A wreath of laurel was pre- 
pared. During dinner, Drouet said that he had met many great 
men, but, pour la morale, none greater than Becquet. Becquet 
was moved to tears. Then Whistler said that they wanted to give 
him some little souvenir, and the laurel wreath, hitherto hidden, 
was brought out and presented to him by Whistler, and Becquet 
broke down, and said he would take it home and hang it on his 
wall where he could always see it. Drouet added a story of a rich 
young girl of about twenty-five who came to Becquet's studio 
and offered herself to him, but he, then fifty, refused out of con- 
sideration for her youth, though it was a chance any other man, in 
such terrible poverty, would have jumped at. Drouet gave him 
one of the three proofs of his own portrait presented to him by 
Whistler and Becquet said he would leave it on his death to the 
90 [1900 


— ■■/: 







J , 



Early Paris Memories 

Museum at Besancon. He lived by playing in an orchestra at 
some theatre. Sarah Bernhardt saw him once as he played, was 
struck by his beauty, asked who he was, and sent for him to come 
to her dressing-room. But he would not hear of it — he would 
have nothing to do with that! And there was a story of a composer 
who asked Becquet to play his music; at first Becquet said no, 
then he consented, and the composer wept as he listened, and the 
two embraced. 

Valentin, the father of Bibi Valentin, was an engraver. 
Drouet could not remember exactly what Axenfeld did, but his 
brother was a celebrated physician of the time. 
Astruc was not only editor of U Artiste, but he painted and sculped, 
made water-colours and wrote verses — in fact, did a little of every- 
thing, and his wife used to say he was the first artist since the 
Renaissance who had combined all the arts. 

It was Eloise, La Fumette, who was with Whistler in the Rue St. 
Sulpice and tore up the drawings. She was a grisette who liked 
to live with men she thought distinguished, out of the common. 
She and Whistler were together in misery, for two years. He 
hadn't anything to give her. Later she was the mistress of a 
musician. Then she went to South America, thinking to find an 
opening as " modiste," but she was too old, and died there. Finette 
was a cocotte, very elegant, who sometimes danced the cancan in 
the dancing places. She went to London to dance in the Music 
Halls, and they announced her as Madame Finette in the Cancan, 
la Danse Nationale Francaise. 

Sometimes they made the feast at Lalouette's restaurant and then 
they ordered cachet vert, a Burgundy at one franc or one franc 
twenty the bottle, but only on great occasions. This brought a 
question from Duret and the talk back to Becquet who, to the 
last, asked Drouet to dinner in the little restaurants where a plat 
cost two sous, where it was an event to spend a franc, and where 
forty sous would pay for a banquet with all the delicacies of the 
season. But they were seldom so extravagant, though often they 
would go on to the theatre afterwards. Aubert was the first man 
Whistler knew in Paris, the friend who helped him to find his 
1900] 91 

The Whistler Journal 

first rooms. Henri Martin, he thinks, must be the son of the his- 
torian, who did a little painting. The man in Soupe a Trois Sous 
was another Martin, a soldier, given the cross of the Legion of 
Honour at sixteen -for bravery in 1848. He planted a flag on the 
top of a barricade. He was the youngest man who ever received 
the Cross. Afterwards it was taken from him for misconduct. 
Whistler was always ready for a quarrel, or rather to defend him- 
self — as in the case of Legros — un petit rageur, even as a student. 
Then a story of another artist with a studio at the Rue Campagne- 
Premiere who came to Drouet one day about noon, looking miser- 
able, wrapped in his coat, the collar turned up, and asked Drouet 
to help him out of a scrape. He had been to the Bal Bullier the 
night before, and there met with a wonderful creature, the model 
who posed for La Baigneuse of Courbet, a splendid creature, but 
enormous. And he was with her all evening and kept telling 
people she was La Baigneuse de Courbet, and he brought her home, 
and she spent the night with him. But in the morning, degrise, it 
was another matter, and he did not know how to get rid of her. 
She was in a most extraordinary costume, a UEcossaise, huge in 
her red and white stockings below her knees, her short skirts, and 
her absurd little hat perched on her head with a feather sticking 
up in the air, and he was ashamed to see her go across the court, 
or to be seen with her. At last he decided to fetch a cab into the 
court and drive her out of sight. But, as she waited for him she 
leaned out of his window, neighbors got wind of something unusual, 
when the cab rattled in, they were all at their windows, and her 
going was an enormous sensation. 

Another story was of the old man whom Whistler painted with a 
pipe in his mouth, the picture Drouet has. Whistler picked him 
up in the Halles, un miserable without a sou to buy himself food, 
but with a curious hat and a face full of character, and Whistler 
told him if he would come to the studio and be painted, he could 
earn forty sous. And the old man said Bien, but first he must get 
his voiture, and Whistler wondered how a man who hadn't a sou 
for a dinner could keep a carriage. When they got outside, there 
it was: a push cart full of pots-de-chambre. And off they went, 
92 [1900 

Early Paris Memories 

and the voiture with its crockery was left in the court, and he sat 
for two or three hours, and he sang funny old songs to Whistler 
who began to sing them with him, and they were great friends. 
Freer wanted the painting, but would not give Drouet two thou- 
sand francs for it. Now no one shall have it for less than two 
thousand, five hundred. [Drouet left it to the Louvre.] Drouet 
sat twice for his etching — one day for two and a half hours, the 
next for one and a half. The Bibi Valentin was done in a couple 
of sittings also — about five hours in all. Another touch to the story 
of Mere Gerard. When she said encore une espece de canaille de 
moins, Whistler laughed and then she recognized him though she 
couldn't see him — his laugh was known even then. When Whistler 
left Paris, he owed Lalouette three thousand francs. It was an 
awful business paying it, but he paid it in the end. A picture 
Drouet remembers his painting was the portrait of a big English- 
man who was copying a picture of Angelica KaufFmann's in the 
Louvre. What has become of the portrait he cannot say. 
The stories about Oulevey were inexhaustible. When he moved 
into new quarters, with no furniture except an easel and a chair 
or two, the landlord objected to a tenant without furniture. At 
that time, pianos could be hired for about seven francs a month. 
Oulevey hired one. It came, made a great effect in the house, and 
the landlord was reassured. [A piano later saved Whistler from 
his creditors. Nor was this merely a version of the Oulevey adven- 
ture with Whistler's name substituted. We have the piano people's 
bill presented for payment of rent to the bankruptcy commis- 
sioners.] Sometimes when Oulevey was two or three months behind 
in the rent, an old man and good friend, le Pere Perret, would come 
round, make some excuse to sit with the concierge, and presently 
begin to talk of Oulevey and what a talented fellow he was. "Yes, 
all very well, but he doesn't pay his rent which is much more 
important," the concierge thought. Bah! was the Pere Perret's 
answer, that was all right, he had an order for a five hundred francs 
picture, and would be less than a fortnight painting it. And the 
Pere Perret would go up to see Oulevey and, on the stairs coming 
down would call out, "And now, mon gar f on, you know you must 
1900] 93 

The Whistler Journal 

get to work and paint your picture." And the concierge would tell 
the landlord, "Better let him stay on, he will have five hundred 
francs in a fortnight, and then he can pay. If we turn him out now, 
he can't." A time came when the landlord wouldn't keep him 
any longer, and everything was to be seized. Oulevey wanted to 
get his canvases away. He tore them off the stretchers and made 
a great roll of them. One day, when he was out, a friend came 
with a roll just like it on his shoulder, and Oulevey's key in his 
pocket, and lingered a moment with the concierge to make sure 
the roll on his shoulder was seen. He climbed to Oulevey's studio, 
changed the rolls, returned with the canvases on his shoulder, 
and again stopped to let the concierge know that he hadn't found 
M. Oulevey and couldn't get into the studio. In the Louvre, it 
was the same. Oulevey was forever playing practical jokes. When 
a young lady, working next to him on a high scaffold copying a 
popular Murillo, had carefully prepared her palette and was about 
to begin to paint, he would give an accidental push to the steps 
of the scaffold, and the stroke would be made in the air. Or he 
brought carrots, turnips and potatoes, and while she was at lunch 
hid them on the steps so that when she came back, at the first 
touch, they rattled down all about her, rolled over the floor. One 
day she felt she couldn't stand it any longer and meeting him at 
the lunch hour in the Rue de Rivoli, she stopped him to say she 
must complain to the authorities. But pardon, he said, he did 
not understand what she was talking about, he did not paint in 
the Louvre — -that must be his brother — then he tore back as fast 
as he could and was in his place, painting, when she got there. 
She had never seen such an extraordinary resemblance, she mar- 
velled, and forgot to complain. He loved les charges — was a great 
blagueur. It was the day when artists still delighted in practical 
jokes — even Courbet played them. 

Drouet remembers seeing Whistler in Paris in 1862, breakfasting 
with him in his studio, and Whistler cooking the breakfast over a 
little stove in the middle of the studio. His impression is that 
Whistler did not work in the schools — did not work in Paris. He 
danced in the evening, went to bed late, never got up till towards 

94 [i9 00 

Early Paris Memories 

noon. But he would have done more had he stayed in France — 
where there were artists to rival: in England there was no one. 
However, all his great pictures, beginning with At the Piano, were 
done in England. He thinks Whistler soon lost his power — either 
from alcoholism or women — which is absurd. Thought he never 
did prints of any account after he went to Venice. He drew freely 
at first. But, whether from alcohol or not, his hand weakened, he 
had to rest his wrist on something while he worked, could only 
make a few strokes at a time. This was the reason of the change 
of method in the Venice plates. They had no real value. It was 
fictitious, made by dealers who couldn't get hold of the early ones. 
He ought to have stayed in Paris where there were painters he 
could compete with — there were none in London. 
Whistler was always unwilling to tell his age — only two or three 
years before his death, once in Drouet's rooms, Drouet asked him 
how old he was. He fumbled with his eyeglass and said, about 
fifty-eight or fifty-nine, yes, that must be it, all the time looking 
out of the corner of his eye to see if Drouet took it in. He never 
gave anything much to Drouet, though Drouet gave him many 
things; he was un peu egoiste, un enfant gate. He hated to be alone. 
Those last years in Paris he always drove everywhere, couldn't 
walk in his little, tight shoes. You would see him in cabs, fast 
asleep. One night he was going to dine with a friend. It was cold 
and he took a cab, with a chauffrette. Got in, couldn't find it 
anywhere. Then he saw that the cocker had it under his own feet. 
When Whistler got out, he paid his fare — it was before the taxi- 
metre — exactly thirty sous and no more, and the drive had been 
long. "And the pour-boire? " the cocker asked, and his language 
was awful. "Inside on the chauffrette" Whistler said, so pleased 
that he was in wonderful spirits all evening. The friend he dined 
with had never seen him so gay. Drouet said there were always 
histories with the cocker when Whistler came to see him. Whistler 
would never pay enough. At last Drouet said to his bonne, just 
to pay it always, and be done with it. 

Drouet, unlike Oulevey, says that Whistler didn't print his etchings 
in Paris, Delatre printed them all. Whistler stood by his side and 
1900] 95 

The Whistler Journal 

watched the printing of every one; that was how he learned to print. 
Drouet and he were looking over Rembrandt's etchings together 
once in Drouet's rooms, and Drouet told Whistler he was the first 
etcher since Rembrandt and pointed out where their work was 
alike. And Whistler was deeply moved — "si vous le pensez, mon 
cher" he said, " ga me donne grand plaisir" 

Drouet's stories, not always exact and sometimes flamboyant, 
showed a tendency to greater flamboyancy as the evening went on. 
Whether or no they alarmed Keppel, after one more than usually 
lurid, he abruptly said good-night, the first of the party to go. 
Drouet and Duret, having complained of a courant d'air, we had 
pulled the table from the middle of the low room to one side, and 
Keppel was sitting directly under the electric light. He got up 
from his chair so suddenly that he struck his head hard against 
the sharp end of the bulb. Blood streamed down his face. For a 
moment it looked serious, a sensational tale for Drouet to add to 
his list. But the wound, when examined, proved a scratch. The 
blood was staunched and he was able to drive home alone, which 
was fortunate as our other two guests showed no signs of going. 
Duret stayed until midnight, Drouet an hour later. J. looked ready 
to drop. I was all but stifled from the atmosphere of the room so 
carefully protected from any courant d'air. Wonderful the old men 
of Whistler's generation, so much younger than the young of to-day. 


Monday, July 16th, igoo. Whistler came to dinner. A fearfully 
hot evening — the heat quite American — and he arrived in a broad- 
brimmed grey felt hat on one side of his curls, a cross between the 
Rough Riders' and a Henry Heath hat. 

He was in a reminiscent mood, though he had first to tell us of 
Kennedy. "I had not liked Kennedy's saying that my sending 
him clippings of the Irishmen's reverses in South Africa was in 
poor taste. And so, you know, I went to his room, while he was 
96 [1900 



ETCHING. M. 102 



In the possession of the Estate of F. R. Leyland 

The Leylands — Their Circle 

in the midst of his trunks and things this morning, and told him so. 
And Kennedy was splendid and said how much he regretted having 
offended me and that he would write and tell you, and we shook 
hands on it, and parted greater friends than ever." His reminis- 
cences began with X., who was asked once to stay over night in 
the house in Chelsea, because of rain, and stayed three years. 
"Well, you know, there he was, and that was the way he had 
always lived — the prince of parasites! I met him first at the 
Leylands — an extraordinary household. Leyland was playing the 
Liverpool Medicis — he was interested in art — he would come home 
from his office, go upstairs to his room without speaking to anyone, 
shut himself in, and play on the piano, practising and practising. 
Then, perhaps, he would go downstairs to the drawing-room where 
Mrs. Leyland was with X. and his two sisters and other hangers-on, 
and he would make a scene with her — he was always making 
scenes with her, so that when he was away she was always having 
little parties and supper parties, and he would come home and 
catch her in the middle of supper sometimes. X. was the profes- 
sional hanger-on, drifting from one house to another. He was a 
genius, a musician; that was why Leyland kept him for so long. 
He was supposed not to know his notes, and for that to be all the 
more wonderful. He was really the first of the Aesthetes, before 
the silly name was invented. He hadn't anything to do while he 
was with me, he didn't do anything but decorate the dinner table, 
arrange the flowers, then play the piano and talk. He hadn't any 
enthusiasms, that's why he was so restful. I never saw him until 
I came out of my studio in the afternoon, and there would be dinner, 
and there he was ready to talk and be amiable. He was always 
ready to go to Cremorne with me. At moments, my Mother, and 
you can just imagine the strict, correct old Southern lady, fresh 
from New England, objected to such a loafer about the house. 
And I would say to her, 'Well, but my dear Mummy, who else is 
there to whom one could say, Play, and he would play, and, Stop 
playing, and he would stop right away!' Part of the time X. spent 
with the Greaves, the boat people, a sort of Peggotty family, playing 
with Tinnie Greaves. The two brothers were my first pupils. 
1900] 97 


The Whistler Journal 

And that was about all he did, except drink my whiskey. I remon- 
strated once, but he said, What could he do? He belonged to a 
thirsty family, a family that needed whiskey. His mother was 
always thirsty too. Then, I was ill, and he was no use at all. He 
couldn't be trusted with a message to the doctor or the chemist, 
and he was only in the way. But he had the good sense to see it 
and to suggest it was time to be going, and he left for somebody 
else! And he drifted and drifted, until one day an old Polish lady 
saw him on the pier at Brighton, or some place, and took a fancy 
to him. And he went to live with her, and she made him her heir, 
and they went to Paris together. But his thirst was still strong, 
and he died before she did. His friends even dressed him half 
the time. When he was with me he pointed once to his shoes, all 
broken and cracked. I said, 'Yes, they are rather bad, but I don't 
mind.' 'No,' said X., 'but I think I should have another pair 
because of John,' my man servant. Yes, you know, the real para- 
site, and it never occurred to him that there was any reason why 
he should not live like that." 

The Greaves brothers afterwards made a great excitement by 
painting the Town Hall at Streatham. Trixie went down to see 
it when we were staying at Long's Hotel and the walls were covered 
with nocturnes and things. Then he went on to The Peacock 
Room. "I had got to such a point in the work, putting in every 
touch with a freedom that was wonderful, so much so, that when 
I got round to the corner where I had started, I painted a bit of 
it over again that the difference should not be seen. I just painted 
it as I went on, without design or sketch." 

The garden — the Embankment Gardens below our windows — 
struck him especially. After all, w r hy should we want to go away, 
with the river there, and the garden gay with people and with 
music, even if it was bad. And, for the first time, he complained 
of the heat. He liked it, but it made him restless. 

Frederick Leyland was one of the rare modern collectors with the 
sense to collect modern work and the discrimination to commission 
the most distinguished artists of his time to decorate his house 
and to paint, draw and etch himself and his family. He and Mrs. 
98 [1900 




DRY-POINT. M. 109 

The Leylands — Their Circle 

Leyland, their three daughters and their son will live in Whistler's 
portraits as Philip IV and his family live in the portraits by Velas- 
quez. Other contemporary collectors are forgotten but Leyland 
is remembered and he owes it to Whistler. The Fricks and the 
Johnsons and that type of collector may hope, by buying dealer- 
boomed Old Masters at huge prices and ignoring the art of the 
present to buy immortality for themselves. But who to-day 
knows anything about the personality of Altman, or J. P. Morgan? 
In twenty years neither will be heard of because they bought only 
the things of the past, while the Six family and the Medicis family 
live because they collected the work of their contemporaries, 
though the Medicis could interest themselves too in the re-dis- 
covered treasures of earlier ages which, in their day, were becoming 
a collector's fad. The stupidity of the average American collector, 
however, is equalled only by his money, and before long his collec- 
tions will be sold for the benefit of his family or dispersed by the 
proletariat, as is happening now in Europe. And before that even 
his name will be forgotten. 

Leyland, the great shipowner, one of the wealthiest and most 
influential men in Liverpool, was as extraordinary as Whistler 
called him. He was entirely a self-made man. The career of many 
of our self-made magnates would seem commonplace in comparison 
to his. He began at the lowest rung of the ladder and not only 
climbed to the highest, but got there with a distinction and accom- 
plishment seldom equalled by the University-made snob who looks 
down upon anyone not born and bred according to his standards. 
Mrs. W. J. Stillman, in a talk about Whistler with E., said: — 

November 13th, iqo6. Leyland's mother was a poor woman who 
sold pies in the streets of Liverpool and Bibby, the rich shipping 
man, sometimes bought her pies and found them good. And he 
used to talk to her. Once he asked her what she was going to do 
with her son and, as her plans for him were vague, took the boy 
to sweep out his office and run his errands. That was the beginning 
and yet Leyland, like old Ionides, knew what was good in art and 
was, moreover, a fine musician. 

With his talent for music we have nothing to do. Apparently it 
was a genuine talent, but it amused Whistler. He thought Leyland 
portentously solemn and serious over it and nothing pleased him 
more than the comment of a chance workman about the house who, 
hearing Leyland practising his scales for hours, thought "he must 
1900] 99 

The Whistler Journal 

be such a light-hearted gentleman!" But in art Leyland knew 
well enough what was good to become Whistler's patron at a time 
when purchasers of Whistler's paintings and prints were few. 
From Leyland, Whistler received innumerable commissions to 
which the end was not in sight when he began the decoration of 
The Peacock Room, and the commissions brought about a close 
friendship between him and the Leyland family. Leyland approved 
of him as much as of his art; the children delighted in him; for a 
while he was engaged to Mrs. Leyland's sister; the gossip of the 
day was inclined to believe him in love with Mrs. Leyland. What 
with their friendship and what with the work that took him to 
Speke Hall and the London house in Princes Gate — "a never- 
ending guest" as he put it — he was so closely associated with them 
that the quarrel disorganized his life as disastrously as his finances. 
He said more than once that The Peacock Room was the reason 
of his bankruptcy — "Ever since, I've had no luck," or, in the 
face of another writ or bailiff, "All this annoyance is the result of 
that confounded Peacock Room where I had no 'business con- 
tract.'" Not many people are left who knew both Leyland and 
Whistler in the years of their friendship. We were just in time 
when we began the Life. Never again can the facts and contem- 
porary rumours and opinions be collected, as we collected them, 
at first hand. Some we did not use, thinking them inappropriate 
in a biography, others we obtained only after the Life was pub- 
lished. But they should not be lost, and at this date we can write 
with greater freedom. Besides, they help to a fuller understanding 
of Whistler. Too much cannot be known of the world's great men. 
We never saw Leyland who died in the early Nineties. But E. 
met Mrs. Leyland as our work on the book progressed and she was 
keen to tell all she could, keen to talk of Whistler who, there is no 
doubt, then occupied as prominent a place in her memory as of 
old he had in her life. The notes made of E.'s three visits are of 
interest — "human documents" would have been the name for 
them in the Eighties and Nineties — and we therefore give them, 
with occasional omissions, as they are in The Whistler Journal. 
The first visit was on 

October 26th, igo6. Went by appointment to call on Mrs. Leyland. 
Found her sitting in her drawing-room with a cat on her lap; an 
old, much-wrinkled woman, short, slight, still pretty with a becom- 
ing white wig, in a tight-fitting black lace gown and many pearls 
and diamonds, her figure as slight and trig as a young girl's. She 
100 [190a 


From a photograph made while it was in place in Princes Gate, showing blue-and white on the walls 
Photograph in Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

In Peacock Room. Freer Collection, National Museum, Washington 
(See page 108) 



DRY-POINT. M. 105 

(See page 102) 

In the possession of Walter S. Brewster, Esq. and Mrs. Knowles 
(See page 301) 

The Leylands — Their Circle 

talked for fifteen minutes or so about the cat, a quite homely, 
almost a gutter cat, and when I was wondering how I could bring 
in Whistler, she suddenly said that cats had such charm and were 
so graceful that they appealed to Whistler who always liked every- 
thing charming and graceful. 

She told me it was through Rossetti they first knew him, Rossetti 
introduced him to Leyland who bought La Princesse du Pays de la 
Porcelaine, and they at once became great friends. In those days 
the Leylands had no house in London, they stayed at the Alexandra 
Hotel when they came to town, but Whistler and his mother used 
to spend months with them at Speke Hall. All the family sat for 
him: Leyland, herself, her three daughters, her son; Leyland paid 
him for all the portraits, but not one was completely finished. He 
would work on them in the Lindsey Row house and then take the 
canvases up to Speke Hall and work on them there. Her children 
were awfully good about it, though they got fearfully tired. The 
son, after three sittings, wouldn't sit again. She herself didn't 
mind, she didn't get tired, and she knew Whistler liked to have 
her stand because he always talked to her freely, told her all his 
troubles and looked for her sympathy. When she was in London, 
and Leyland had to stay in Liverpool, Whistler would come and 
take her about; one had to have a man when one went out in 
London. She remembered his going with her to her box at the 
Opera, and the attendant who opened the door and helped them 
with their wraps, when he took Whistler's hat, leaned over and 
said, "I beg your pardon, Sir, but there is a white feather in your 
hair, just on top." People talked about her and Whistler, went 
so far as to say she was going to elope with him, which was 
absurd, as if she would! Though she didn't say that if she had 
been a widow then she mightn't have married him. Whistler was 
engaged for a while to her youngest sister, who was pretty, but 
not the wife for him, and it was a good thing the engagement was 
broken, though she always thought that if he had married early 
the right sort of woman it would have made the difference. 
He designed the dress in her portrait, white and rose chiffon with 
rosettes scattered here and there, and when she could not come, 
1900] 10 1 

The Whistler Journal 

sometimes Maud posed in it so he could paint the draperies. The 
pose was one natural to her, one she took unconsciously when she 
stood talking. She had never known an artist to be more conscien- 
tious — the picture was rubbed out again and again; there were times 
when after a day's work, it looked as if it were really all but finished 
and she thought not more than another sitting was needed, and 
the next morning she would come to find the whole thing rubbed 
down, and the work to begin all over. The portrait of Mrs. Huth 
was painted while she was sitting for hers in the Chelsea house, 
and she pretended to be indignant with him because she wanted 
to wear just such a black velvet dress as Mrs. Huth wore and he 
insisted on her wearing the one he designed. He began a big 
picture for Leyland, girls and flowers, but never finished it. 
When he gave his first dinner party at Lindsey Row, she lent him 
her butler and in the afternoon she and her sister went round to 
see if everything was in order, and they hung up white muslin 
curtains at the windows for him. It was a big dinner party and 
there were interesting people, and one absurd incident she remem- 
bered. A woman neither she nor Whistler liked came in a white 
muslin slip over a pink slip, and, being near sighted, mistook a 
sort of Japanese bath filled with water and water-lilies for a divan 
and was about to sit in it when Mrs. Leyland rescued her, and 
Whistler said afterwards, why did she? A daughter of Grisi's was 
there, and Whistler made Leyland take her in to dinner because 
he thought she must be musical, and the first thing she said when 
they sat down was, Did he like Ouida's novels? Of course they 
went to many of the breakfasts, but she had not much to say 
about them. 

In the end, she thought Whistler behaved badly to Leyland. 
Leyland only meant him to decorate the shelves Jekyll designed 
to hold the blue-and-white china, and he passed over the loss of 
his old leather and being kept out of his house for so long. He was 
not only a generous, but a just man, and he thought Whistler 
asked him too much for the decoration. If she remembered it 
was three thousand guineas, something between two and three 
thousand. She herself never quarrelled with Whistler, though she 
102 [1900 

The Leylands — Their Circle 

objected to something she heard him say in The Peacock Room 
about her husband. But she saw him afterwards, she went to 
his house and he came to see her. Her oldest daughter, however, 
seemed to think it was better not to, and so in the end, for some 
years before his marriage and until his death, they had not met. 
She sent him a message once, to come and bring his wife, through 
Airs. Alan Cole, and Mrs. Whistler, who seemed a jealous person, 
resented it and asked Mrs. Cole how she could want to break up 
the peace of a happy home. She could not understand his will. 
She thought he ought to have left something to his son. He had 
taken her to see the son once when he was a small boy. 
It was her nocturne that was brought into court in the place of 
Airs. Wyndham's, which she insists was the one Ruskin wrote 
about. Airs. Wyndham was away, and hers was sent down from 
Speke Hall, and she was furious because it was taken into court 
without the frame, and the frame was painted by Whistler — with 
blue waves, carrying out and completing the design. It got so 
battered afterwards she had it gilded over. It hangs in her drawing 
room: a beautiful blue night, a great wide stretch of river, the 
factory chimneys and church tower of Battersea on the far shore, 
and in the foreground a spray of foliage and the Butterfly in the 
long narrow Japanesish panel. She says it was Leyland who sug- 
gested to him the names Symphony and Harmony. There are 
dreadful pictures near it in the drawing-room and a lot of photo- 
graphs of people, and one of a gravestone in a cemetery. Down 
stairs in the dining-room, where she took me, Whistler's portrait 
hangs side by side with a big full-length portrait of her by Phil 
Alorris, a portrait of Mrs. Prinsep by Val Prinsep on one side, and 
opposite another of Prinsep's pictures. I could hardly see the 
Whistler in the late afternoon light, so I lost the colour. The pose 
is charming. The portrait belongs to her son, but she is to keep 
it as long as she lives. The Nocturne is hers and she will not part 
with it. An American had come to her anxious to buy both. In 
her bedroom are three pastels of the children: the boy with a 
wide-brimmed hat on the back of his head, his legs crossed and 
stretched out in a graceful pose; one little girl, Mrs. Prinsep, stand- 
1900] 103 

The Whistler Journal 

ing in old-fashioned dress, wearing hat and jacket; and the other, 
the youngest, lounging in a chair. In the back drawing-room and 
in the morning-room are etchings of The French Set and other early 
ones of that date, and of The Thames Set. She is willing to let us 
photograph anything she has, provided the pictures are not taken 
from the house. At the time of the sale of her husband's things, 
she says Whistler wrote her from Paris protesting against the sale 
of certain sketches of herself and the children, which he said were 
hers and not Leyland's. He had given them to her, Leyland had 
not bought them. 

The second note is dated a month later the same year: — 

December 12th. I called on Mrs. Leyland. She evidently likes to 
talk Whistler. She told me virtually the things she told me the 
last time I saw her, with a few additions. When she went to sit 
for her portrait in the Lindsey Row house, she used to meet 
Carlyle who was sitting for his. He was grumpy, in the end 
wouldn't come as often as Whistler wanted. Phil Morris' 
father had to sit for the coat. Then, it was Rossetti who told her 
of the report that she was about to elope with Whistler. Not only 
had she gone with him to see his son; then a small child in charge 
of some woman somewhere in the country, and Whistler seemed 
quite fond of him, taking him in his arms; but she saw him again 
when he was much older and Jo was taking care of him. He called 
her "Aunty," and sometimes he would come to the studio and say 
that "Aunty" wanted some money — she remembered him a little 
lad in a sailor suit. He was the son of another model. Whistler 
always said he was "an accident." 

Mrs. Whistler, Whistler's mother, told her a most romantic story 
of her marrying Major Whistler. The Major's first wife had been 
her intimate friend, with whom she stayed a great deal in the few 
years of their married life. And all the while she was in love with 
Major Whistler, determined that she would marry no other man. 
And it seems that the first wife, dying, said to him that if he 
married a second time, it must be to Miss McNeill, that is, 
Whistler's mother. 
104 [1900 


1 X J^asfit£& 

.fo 5 ^. 


■n n n 



64 ML 



Partially decorated by Whistler 


In the possession of the Estate of Mrs. Leyland 


r rK£^-s 



\i u 

( I 




In the possession of Mrs. J. C. Gardner 

The Leylands — Their Circle 

Mrs. Leyland thinks there could be no greater contrast than 
between Whistler and the Doctor. Whistler quick and alert, the 
Doctor slow and deliberate — he would take half an hour almost 
to write the simplest prescription; Whistler slight, the Doctor 
short and heavy. Whistler's voice disturbed some people. She 
remembers at an evening reception, Whistler coming in and being 
heard at once, and the man with her, not knowing who it was, 
grumbled that even genius could not excuse such a voice. She 
talked again of The Peacock Room and said nothing she had not 
said before, except that for a while, when he was doing it, Whistler 
lived at Princes Gate, Leyland hoping that if he did, he would 
get on faster. But it was Whistler's conscientiousness in work 
that made him slow. He never minded how much time or trouble 
he took in order to get what he wanted. 

The third and last visit was just before the book came out — a 
hurried visit, for E. was on the point of sailing for New York: — 

October 14th, 1908. Called on Mrs. Leyland. She has let Gray 
photograph her portrait again for Heinemann. I asked her espe- 
cially about the picture in the Brooklyn Museum, which is cata- 
logued as a portrait of Florence Leyland, and which Joseph, who has 
just seen it, thinks a portrait of Maud. She had forgotten it, thought 
that her children posed to Whistler only when quite young. But 
she asked Airs. Val Prinsep, who says it is her portrait. She stood 
for it when she was seventeen or eighteen, and Mrs. Leyland's 
description of the dress and details agrees exactly with Joseph's. 
He is anxious to let Mr. Goodyear, the Curator of the Museum, 
know about it. Mrs. Leyland went over the same reminiscences 
of Whistler, and regretted that he could not have married her — it 
would have been much better for him, she thinks. 

That Whistler did one day say something which was overheard 
and considered offensive by Mrs. Leyland, she was not alone in 
telling us. We had the same story from T. R. Way, though he 
supposed that Mrs. Leyland also quarrelled with Whistler in con- 
sequence. The Ways had an excellent opportunity of hearing the 
gossip on the subject for it was work connected with The Peacock 
Room that introduced them to Whistler. 

1900] 105 

The Whistler Journal 

September 25th, igo6. Way said: They had printed catalogues for 
Deschamps, Durand-Ruel's London representative, and E. W. 
Godwin, knowing this and knowing Thomas Way personally — 
both were members of the Hogarth Club — brought him to Whistler 
who wanted to issue a leaflet about his decorations. Way had 
bought a couple of Whistler's water colours and told him so, and 
Whistler asked him to the studio to see his etchings. After this, 
young Way too was sometimes there when Whistler was printing, 
and often in The Peacock Room on business about the leaflet 
which is now so rare a find for the collector. His impression was 
that Leyland did not mind anything Whistler did, not even the 
disappearance of the old leather on the dining-room walls, for he 
knew he was getting greater beauty in exchange. But one day 
Mrs. Leyland, who was out of town, came up unexpectedly to the 
house and let herself in by her own key. The dining-room door 
was open and Whistler was talking to a group of friends. Some- 
thing was said of Leyland just as she passed. Whistler shrugged 
his shoulders, "Well, you know, what can you expect from a 
parvenu?" Mrs. Leyland went in and ordered him to leave the 
house. Until then, he had come and gone like one of the family, 
but when he returned after a day or two, the servants' instructions 
were not to admit him, and that was the end. 

This is Way's version. From Mrs. Stillman also we heard of the 
indiscreet remark, though she did not attribute to it the beginning 
of the end : — 

November 13th, igo6. She remembered seeing Whistler in The 
Peacock Room at work with his pupils, the Greaves, and his giving 
her tea as if the house were his. She thought it was this, the way 
Whistler behaved as if the house belonged to him, issuing cards of 
admission, putting a bowl full of them in a prominent place at 
Liberty's, that, above all, infuriated Leyland. Then too while he 
was in possession of Leyland's house, Whistler abused Leyland and, 
by accident, the abuse was overheard by Mrs. Leyland. 

On the other hand, Sir Thomas Sutherland assured us that Leyland 
knew nothing of the wholesale character of the work in his dining- 

106 [1900 

The Leylands — Their Circle 

room, and could not forgive Whistler when he discovered it. E.'s 
note of her talk with Sutherland goes further into detail: — 

November ist, igo6. Sutherland knew Leyland well. Their bus- 
iness brought them into close relations, and he liked Leyland 
who was an upright man in affairs and he often visited the Liver- 
pool house. Then Leyland took the house in London where he 
was at first a stranger and cared for few people except artists, in 
whom he was interested and whose work he bought. At Leyland's 
dinner table Sutherland met Whistler, then the "tame cat," the 
"cher ami" of the household, and also Rossetti, Howell, and 
various others. This was the story of The Peacock Room, he 
said, which he found few people gave correctly. When the blue- 
and-white china was arranged on the shelves in the dining-room 
at Princes Gate, the beautiful old Spanish leather on the walls 
looked dull and dingy. To relieve this dulness, Whistler was to 
touch with gold or colour the flowers in the design and so bring 
them out again. The Leylands went back to Liverpool, and 
Whistler was left to finish, no one else there but a caretaker. 
The work was tedious and Whistler grew impatient, and, in his 
impatience, he covered the walls with blue and worked out a 
design of his own on the blue; this without consulting the 
Leylands. At last, Leyland returned. Whistler didn't say any- 
thing but rather kept out of the way. Leyland was furious. His 
Spanish leather was ruined, and, besides, he didn't like the 
idea of so much gold and gilding in the decorations; he felt it 
inappropriate, vain-glorious, for a man like himself who had made 
his own money. When he saw Whistler he told him that his dining- 
room was ruined and Whistler's time wasted, which was the more 
serious to Whistler who was then engaged — one of many times. 
What did he suppose all that was worth to him? And Whistler 
said two thousand guineas, and Leyland, who thought it extortion- 
ate anyway, paid him in pounds. And this was the end. Suther- 
land thought there was no question that Whistler behaved badly, 
for the Leylands had been good friends to him, their house had 
been his. 
1900] 107 

The Whistler Journal 

Lord Redesdale gave us his version which agreed with Sir Thomas 
Sutherland's that Leyland was kept in ignorance of what was 
going on in his house: — 

August 20th, 1907. He remembered Whistler in The Peacock 
Room. He had been in Scotland and, coming back, called at 
Whistler's in Lindsey Row and was told that Whistler was at 
Princes Gate, and there he found him on top of a ladder, looking 
like a little evil imp, a gnome. "But what are you doing?" Redes- 
dale asked. "I am doing the loveliest thing you ever saw," 
Whistler said. "But what of the beautiful old Spanish leather? 
And Leyland? Have you consulted him?" "Why should I? lam 
doing the most beautiful thing that has ever been done, you know, 
the most beautiful room!" Then Leyland returned and Leyland 
sent him a cheque for a thousand pounds, and Whistler was furious 
because it was not guineas. He painted in gold on the panels at 
the end of the room, the Rich Peacock and the Poor Peacock, and 
the shillings in silver under the Rich Peacock's claw. 

Mr. Alan S. Cole, much with Whistler at this period, ascribed 
Leyland's irritation to the length of time Whistler took, the work 
seeming to drag on indefinitely, while he lost his temper outright 
when he heard of the unjustifiable use, as it appeared to him, of 
his house, and the publicity given to his dining-room, for, after all, 
it did not belong to Whistler if the decoration did. During several 
talks with Mr. Cole in 1906 and 1907, he told us among other 
things, on the evening of, 

November 27th, 1906 — The leaflet on The Peacock Room was for 
the press and this more than anything, infuriated Leyland — the fact 
of Whistler, without consulting him, throwing open his house to 
people, inviting them there, and, indeed, all along, Whistler used 
the house in that way, bringing people in to see The Peacock Room, 
giving them tea, holding receptions. When the notices appeared 
in the papers, Leyland resented this turning of his house into a 
public gallery. He offered Jimmie the sum agreed upon to get out, 
but Jimmie wouldn't go, kept on asking people, said he would 
make Leyland a gift of the whole thing first. And, when it was 
complete, Leyland could sit at dinner with his back to the Princesse 
108 [1900 

The Leylands — Their Circle 

and see, at the opposite end of the room, the apotheosis of I'art et 
V argent! To Theodore Child, invited to dine at the Leylands, 
Whistler wrote that he would have the rare pleasure of feasting on 
Roast Peacock. The leather was gradually covered, and, as it 
began to become Whistler's, it began to get on Leyland's nerves, 
but what got on them more than anything was the publicity. 
The crisis came with a notice in The Morning Post. It was the 
last straw for Leyland, and Whistler now did not seem to mind 
what he did, he was superb; carriages crowded Princes Gate. 
And Leyland was fine, keeping the Room and the Peacocks just 
as they were. There was no question Whistler was not in the right. 

As some of the statements we have quoted are either not quite 
accurate, or else contradictory, perhaps, before going further, we 
had better give Murray Marks' description, as he gave it to J., of 
the original decoration in The Peacock Room, for which he was 
responsible, and the changes in it proposed by Whistler and grad- 
ually made. J. saw him at much the same period that we were 
having our talks with Mr. Cole and Sir Thomas Sutherland: — 

December pth, 1908. Marks says he was responsible for The Peacock 
Room, or rather for having it decorated by Jekyll, whom he knew. 
He suggested and purchased the leather; Norwich leather, not 
Spanish; and it was painted, not embossed. He got the idea from 
Lord Battersea, then Cyril Flower, who had a room hung with 
Spanish leather in which there was Blue and White. Leyland 
bought the Princesse before there was any idea of Whistler's decor- 
ating the room, and on the floor was a rug, with a red centre and 
red lines. W T histler objected to the reds when the picture was 
hung because he said they killed the rose in the painting, and 
Leyland allowed the centre and the lines to be taken out of the 
carpet. In the centre of each panel of leather, however, was a red 
flower, which also offended Whistler, and he painted or gilded all 
the flowers over with yellow. The result, Whistler pronounced 
horrible, as the yellow paint or gilding wouldn't work with the 
yellow of the leather. And this was the reason why the peacock 
scheme, probably designed for Alexander's house, was commenced. 
1900] 109 

The Whistler Journal 

Marks said further that, when Jekyll saw it, he hurried home, 
went mad, gilded his own floor and died. 

We quote still another story, not because of its accuracy, which 
we question, but because it comes from Watts-Dunton. He told 
it one evening when Heinemann was dining with him and 
Swinburne at "The Pines" a few months before Whistler's death. 
Heinemann afterwards gave us the note he made of the even- 
ing's talk: — 

Sunday, April 26th, 1903. Watts told me the whole story of the 
Leyland row. Leyland had placed one of Whistler's Japanese 
pictures over the mantelpiece of his dining room, the decoration of 
which had been entrusted to some well-known artist, and the walls 
of which were covered with most expensive Spanish leather. 
Whistler considered that the Spanish leather entirely destroyed 
the effects of the picture, and he got Leyland's permission to 
modify the leather by painting on it. He began in Leyland's 
presence with only a few modifications in colour, but when 
Leyland went away, he began painting over practically the whole 
leather, a fact which drove the original artist mad (he died in an 
asylum). W T histler by degrees painted over the whole room, 
decorating the leather with peacocks, but Watts denies that at that 
time the portrait of Leyland was painted in the peacock's tail. 
When Leyland returned, Whistler took him into the room and 
said to Leyland: "Now I want a cheque for two thousand pounds." 
Leyland laughed at this and took no further notice of it. On the 
following Sunday morning Leyland happened to be at Rossetti's, 
and told Rossetti about Whistler's demand. Rossetti said that 
the whole thing was mad, that it was outrageous, but Leyland 
said that he would give Whistler a thousand pounds, which Rossetti 
said was far too much, and rather pooh-poohed the idea of the 
whole thing or that Leyland should give him anything at all. 
Leyland, however, saw Whistler and offered him a thousand 
pounds, saying that he would not give him another farthing. He 
had not commissioned the thing at all, and as he had done it 
simply to please himself, he considered the payment liberal and 
I 10 [1900 

The Leylands — Their Circle 

handsome, one which nobody else in England would have made. 
Whistler took the thousand pounds in disgust, having first declined 
to take anything, but he reviled Leyland all over London, and 
presumably painted in Leyland's head later on. 

This statement about Leyland's head painted in the peacock's 
tail we never heard from anyone else and we never could find 
the head. 

It was interesting to collect these different versions, to fit them in 
together, and to work out from them the true story for the Life, 
comparing and sifting the evidence. The more we heard, the more 
we were convinced it was not the transformation of his dining room 
that incensed Leyland, who must have known from Whistler's 
letters to Airs. Leyland, which we have seen, if not from letters to 
himself, something of the colossal scale on which Whistler was 
working. Otherwise, the decorations would not have extended 
over months, would not have kept him day after day from six 
in the morning until almost nine at night, would not have obliged 
Leyland to put him up at Princes Gate, would not have filled his 
eyes with sleep and peacock feathers, would not have led him to 
send a message, through Mrs. Leyland, warning "Freddie" of the 
price of his labour, large though barely enough to pay him. Ley- 
land probably would have swallowed, if grumblingly, this large 
sum, along with the press and publicity and invitations scattered 
wholesale, and never quarrelled with Whistler. It was Whistler 
who quarreled with him. If there was one thing that enraged 
Whistler more than another it was to have his "golden guineas" 
reduced to pounds; to knock off the shillings he considered the 
height of meanness; it was "unbecoming in a transaction between 
gentlemen." When his Philosopher was sold to the Comtesse de 
Beam and Petit, who arranged the sale, forgot the shillings in the 
French equivalent of the sum charged in English money, Whistler 
was prepared to take legal action had not M. Duret represented 
that it might seem strange for an American artist selling his work 
in France to demand payment in English guineas. Petit did add 
to the original sum, but some of the shillings were still missing, 
and again Whistler was quieted only by M. Duret's argument that 
the Comtesse knew no more about guineas and pounds than Petit, 
that she was charming, and that therefore it would be discourteous 
to insist. Mr. Fisher Unwin had a somewhat similar experience. 
For Whistler's lithograph of J., published as frontispiece to our 
Lithography and Lithographers ; he sent Whistler a cheque for twenty 
1900] IH 

The Whistler Journal 

pounds. Whistler returned it, saying "very nice — but — where are 
the shillings?" And then Mr. Unwin sent another cheque, this 
time for twenty guineas, and all was well. When Mr. Croal 
Thomson was guilty of the same crime, he was rebuked by Whistler 
for, like Leyland, "cutting the shillings off my pounds." 
Leyland refused to pay two thousand guineas. Whistler suggested, 
he would contribute one thousand himself. When, on top of this 
the cheque came for pounds, Leyland had committed the unpardon- 
able sin. Mrs. Dr. Whistler, Mr. Luke Ionides, the Alan Coles, 
dining with us on Thursday, December 19th, 1907, were all of the 
opinion that Leyland in doing this brought all relations between 
himself and Whistler to an end. They remembered an original 
agreement for five hundred pounds, though Whistler said there 
was no contract. It was probably not in writing and it was only 
for the touching up of the leather. The great thing is that 
Whistler knew the beauty he was creating too well to throw down 
his brushes over the disputes of a day, and that Leyland wisely 
preserved the masterpiece, though he let the master go. He was 
the custodian of one of the greatest modern decorations, he real- 
ized the responsibility, and, thanks to him, The Peacock Room 
exists to-day, caricature and all, as Whistler left it, and is now, 
by the bequest of Charles Freer, in the possession of the country 
of which Whistler was proud to be a citizen. 

A curious characteristic of Freer's method of collecting is recalled 
by this reference. He had been collecting Whistlers since the early 
Eighties when his attention was drawn by Mr. Howard Mansfield, 
from the Palmers and Vans' Gravesandes he was buying, to Whist- 
ler's etchings. Then, a little later, at Messrs. Dowdeswell's advice 
he bought from Mr. H. S. Theobald, K. C, the pastels which, 
after the not too successful show of 1886 in their galleries, the 
Dowdeswells had sold to Theobald. To Whistler Freer introduced 
himself. His account of it came to us through Chase, of whom he 
had asked a letter of introduction — probably after his purchase 
of the pastels. Chase suggested that an introduction from him 
would be of anything but use, that Freer would be better off with- 
out it, and so without it, Freer called. He sent up his name. The 
servant came back to say Whistler would see him in five minutes. 
Freer took out his watch and timed him. In exactly five minutes 
he appeared, a little dapper figure, with a monocle in his right eye. 
Freer said, "I'm an American, Mr. Whistler, just from America. 
I heard that you made an etching once and I would like to see it." 
Whistler took off his monocle, wiped it carefully put it up again, 
looked at Freer, asked him into the studio, made him stay to lunch. 
112 [1900 

The Leylands — Their Circle 

Freer explained that he tried to make himself as American as pos- 
sible! — an amusing tale, but we rather wonder if Whistler could 
not have told it better. However, from the Nineties on, Freer 
never came to Europe without seeing Whistler in London or Paris, 
buying paintings, prints and drawings from him, or from owners 
willing to part with them. Nor did his collecting cease with 
Whistler's death. At the Whistler Memorial Exhibition in London, 
1905, he bought the portrait of Leyland, and what we want to 
point out as characteristic is the fact that, though he doubtless 
could have had the Mrs. Leyland, he never purchased it and it 
went to Mr. Frick. Freer also, for some unknown reason, refused 
to purchase the portrait of Whistler with the paint brushes, his 
best portrait of himself, which is now owned by Mr. Stevens of 
Detroit. It was offered to Freer by Mr. Coutts Michie, who 
married the widow of George McCulloch, the owner, and Freer 
took instead from the McCulloch collection, when it was being sold, 
another version of the Valparaiso nocturne which he already had. 
Freer also refused to purchase the portrait of Dr. Whistler which 
belonged to his widow, Mrs. William Whistler, and the study of 
Luke Ionides in that gentleman's collection, both of which were 
also offered to him. He did not buy the last two because he did 
not like their owners, and so Freer deprived himself and, more 
important, his country, of works, by Whistler because of his per- 
sonal likes and dislikes. 

Another painting Mr. Freer let slip from him is The Gold Scab. 
With the Mount Ararat and The Loves of the Lobsters which he did 
buy, it would have completed the history of The Peacock Room. 
All three are caricatures, as bitter as the peacocks on the walls. 
The Gold Scab is horrible in its strange beauty. The Dowdeswells, 
who bought it at Sotheby's sale after the bankruptcy, sold it to a 
Captain Hubbell. When they asked him what he wanted to do 
with it, he said he proposed to present it to Leyland's Club. But 
this did not come off, and the next thing heard of the painting was 
Jacomb-Hood's finding it in a pawnshop in the King's Road, 
Chelsea, though how it got there was, and still is, a mystery. 
From Jacomb-Hood, it passed to San Francisco, and is there now, 
we believe in Mrs. Spreckles' collection, though it ought to be in 
Washington, where Whistler would have wished it that, as he used 
to say, history might be made. 

1900] 113 



IT was in the note for July 16th, given in the last chapter, that 
the names of the Greaves brothers first appear in The Whistler 
Journal. J. had met Walter Greaves a year or two before — Harry 
Greaves was dead. One day, walking with Whistler on the Chelsea 
Embankment, J. had been amazed to see approaching a strange 
faraway echo of Whistler, the chief difference being that the echo 
was shabby and wore a red necktie, and before he got over his 
amazement Whistler had introduced him. Walter Greaves seems 
always to have tried to get himself up like Whistler, and was still 
trying when we last saw him. It sometimes led to mistakes. One 
amusing story we had from Mr. Oliver Brown: — 

Thursday, March 23rd, 1913. He was dining with us and the talk 
turned on Greaves. He said his father, or some one who was there, 
told him of a dinner the Chelsea Arts Club gave to Whistler. A 
little while before the dinner hour, some of the Committee, who 
were attending to the last details and who had never met Whistler, 
saw an elderly man come in with long overcoat and straight- 
brimmed hat and white gloves, thought it must be Whistler, 
received him effusively, and fluttered about him, until some of the 
older members of the Committee arrived, said he wasn't Whistler, 
and asked him who he was. He said his name was Greaves and he 
was a pupil and a friend of Whistler's. And so, though he had not 
been asked, they gave him a good place at the table and insisted 
on his staying. Then Whistler came, presently saw him, put up 
his monocle, stared at him, said nothing, and Greaves faded away. 

The next mention of Greaves in The Journal was after Whistler's 
death, on February Qth, 1905, when J. was busy arranging the 
Whistler Memorial Exhibition at the New Gallery. An important 
letter came in his absence and E. hurried with it to the Gallery: 
"While I was there one of the Greaves brothers who figure in 
Whistler's early Chelsea days turned up. He also has lent things." 
One morning, a year later: — 

May 5th, 1906. J. was working in Chelsea, making an etching of 
the old Church, and one of the Greaves brothers wandered up to 
114 [1900 

The Greaves 

talk to him. Probably no one living knows more of Whistler in 
the old Chelsea days, and he told J. he would be delighted to recall 
all he could, if J. would go to see him. His memory is still fresh of 
the "times" there had been in the evenings, of the people who 
came to the house and went out with Whistler on his father's boats. 
There had been noise. Whistler was always ready for it, he was 
always gay. But what affair was that of his? Why should he 
talk about that? The nights when Whistler worked, his usual 
method was to make sketches on brown paper with black and 
white chalk. These were his notes. And as for his pictures, his 
nocturnes, it was all wrong what he said in court. They were 
usually done in about an hour and a half. But then, he probably 
destroyed many before he succeeded in getting just what he wanted. 
He used a quantity of McGilp or whatever was the medium, his 
paint was as fluid as water colour, and there were times when the 
canvas was so dripping, he had to put it down on the floor for a 
while. It was quite true that many of the nocturnes were painted 
on a red ground. But he told J. to come and see him and he could 
talk better and tell him more. 

Whistler's method of making nocturnes has been more or less 
described by Way and Menpes. As Whistler told J., it was as 
hard as training for a foot race. He would note an evening effect 
and come back from dinner by the same spot night after night, 
and one night the nocturne would be there, the effect he wanted. 
And he would stand, leaning on the Embankment wall, looking. 
And when he had looked long, he would turn round with his back 
to the subject, and begin to recite the subject in a sort of chant. 
; 'The sky is lighter than the water, the houses darkest. There are 
eight houses, the second is the lowest, the fifth the highest. The 
tone of all is the same. The first has two lighted windows, one 
above the other; the second has four." "No," said Way. Then 
W T histler would wheel about, look, and correct his mistakes, turn 
his back and begin again. And so it would go on till he was right, 
then he would say "Good-night," go straight home to bed, and the 
next day paint his nocturne. 

J. was away from London through the summer of 1906, but on 
his return in the autumn he made three visits to Greaves and E. 
also called. 

1900] 115 

The Whistler Journal 

September 10th, iqo6. In the afternoon J. went to Fulham to look 
up Walter Greaves who has not answered his note. Greaves was 
away but Miss Greaves was at home and appeared, an elderly 
woman in yellow wig and much jewelry, low dress and many neck- 
laces. She had a good deal to say about Whistler. She had posed 
for him, she was "Tinnie," she had sat for anything he wanted, 
there were the etchings of her. She knew J. had written, she had 
seen his note, she did not know why her brother had not answered, 
and it was arranged that J. should call next Tuesday when he would 
be back. 

Tuesday, September 18th, igo6. In the afternoon J. went to see 
the Greaves in Fulham. As to Whistler's painting: he painted all 
the important pictures, the Mother, the Carlyle, Miss Alexander, 
the nocturnes which Greaves calls Moonlights in the second house 
from the east end of Lindsey Row as it was then, and not Cheyne 
Walk, one of the two houses which stand out. The studio was in 
the first floor back. The Mother was painted on the back of a 
canvas; the Miss Alexander, on an absorbent canvas, on a dis- 
temper ground. He also pointed out that the Mother was painted 
so thinly, especially her dress, that the black dado which evidently 
at one time had been painted all across the picture could be seen 
through her. J. suggested that it might have been at the start 
another picture but Greaves did not think so. The nocturnes, 
moonlights, were painted on this absorbent canvas on a red 
ground, or on mahogany which he got from Greaves — the red 
forcing up the blues laid on it. He also says that Whistler 
worked with linseed oil only on these nocturnes mixing his colour 
on a big flat table large quantities of it with a great deal of oil, 
calling it "sauce," washing it on like a water colour [this Whistler 
always said he did] and often having to put the canvas flat on the 
floor to keep the whole thing from running off. Greaves also said 
that it used to dry out like a wash of body colour. Whistler always 
told J. that this medium was made of McGilp, copal, turps or lin- 
seed oil. But Greaves says he never knew him to use anything 
but oil. Greaves also says that he and his brother painted the 
116 [1900 


(See page 59) 





In the possession of Mrs. T. R. Way 

(See page 115) 

The Greaves 

frames and that they worked on The Peacock Room which was 
first gilded all over and then the design painted on it in blue. Also 
he says he used to show the studio to people and remembers Tom 
Taylor coming there. In wiping his plates Whistler used three 
rags and then wiped with his hand and finally Greaves says pulled 
the ink out of the lines with a bit of muslin, really the retroussage 
he later objected to. The Greaves first met him in 1859 or 60 — 
and he says we taught him to row and he taught us to paint, 
to row with what he calls the Waterman's Jerk. Frequently very 
early in the morning, sometimes at five, they would row up as far 
as Putney and get breakfast at Howell's when he was living there. 
Howell he described as all sorts of adjectives — Jew and liar. 
He apparently got etchings out of Greaves for next to nothing. 
Whistler seems to have been on the river a great deal and to have 
loved it, sometimes staying out all night when after his moonlights. 
He never tried to use colour at night or at Cremorne Gardens, but 
made notes on brown paper in black and white chalk. He lived 
in two places in Lindsey Row. The first was the third from the 
west end but Greaves says he did very little there. The Greaves 
themselves lived in the little white house which juts out at the 
far end of the row and shows very distinctly in Haden's etching 
and in J's. Greaves has several of Whistler's drawings of these 
houses. He says at the same time Brunei who built the Great 
Eastern lived in the easternmost house, and in the middle one 
with a balcony Martin the Scriptural painter lived. And on fine 
moonlight nights Greaves or his father when they were out late 
and there was a fine sky, at Martin's request, would knock at his 
door and the old man in his nightcap would appear on the balcony 
and go to work at the skies for hours. It was in the second house, 
however, that all the important pictures were painted. He also 
says that W T histler, he, and his brother went to a life school kept 
by Somebody Barthe in Lymmerson Street for one winter — that 
often after dinner he would come into their house sometimes send- 
ing in dessert and things and come along afterwards himself. And 
all the time he was sketching on brown paper in the evenings. 
They had a large number of these things, some were shown in the 
1900] II 7 

The Whistler Journal 

International Memorial Exhibition. He said in those early days 
things were extremely lively in the studio. There were always 
a lot of women hanging round and sometimes there were terrific 
rows, and they used to get into awful rows at Cremorne. Jo's name 
(he thinks she finally got married, she was the mother of Whistler's 
son Harry) was Mrs. Abbott, while Maud was Miss Franklin. 
Carlyle was very impatient, especially when Whistler worked with 
small brushes and to quiet him Whistler worked with big brushes 
or pretended to. When his own exhibition came off in Pall Mall, 
the Whistler and Greaves families wrote the cards of invitation and 
they all made Butterflies on them as hard as they could and filled 
the letter boxes in that part of Chelsea with them, but he didn't 
seem to think that many people went to the show. Whistler 
laughed all his troubles off. A grocer named Stevens to whom 
he owed, they say, a lot of money either seized or took in payment 
several pictures. Greaves says that the grocer's children are still 
in Fulham though he does not know where. But they came to 
him a year or so ago to ask as to the selling of these pictures. And 
there was a coal merchant or something of that sort who, Miss 
Greaves says, went mad because he couldn't get his money. 
Greaves used to buy all his colours and acids for him over in 
Battersea and apparently, as he said, finally got to do nothing but 
"fetching and carrying." They don't seem to have had any real 
row though apparently Whistler objected to the work done at 
Streatham Town Hall. He says he, Greaves, called at the house 
a few days before Whistler died but they wouldn't let him in. On 
the one hand he and his sister complained that nobody ever got 
paid and apparently they did not, yet on the other they were always 
praising his generosity, saying that the front door was literally 
wide open and that somebody was always in the studio. J. has an 
idea that this open door was taken great advantage of, and was 
one of the reasons that made him bitter about certain people. 
They corroborated the story about the bailiffs being made into 
waiters. Miss Greaves said that on one occasion he invited her 
and her sister to a Promenade Concert at Covent Garden, and 
took two hansoms and drove up to town. When they got to the 
118 [1900 

The Greaves 

paper shop of an old woman near Drury Lane he stopped the cabs 
as he found no one in the party had any money, went in, borrowed 
two sovereigns of her, paid off the cabs and bought the tickets for 
the concert with the remainder. How they got back to Chelsea, 
J. forgot to ask. Miss Greaves insists the old woman never got 
her money back. But Miss Greaves is very positive he never paid 
anybody, which, of course, is not so. There is evidently something 
on the financial side that upsets Miss Greaves. They say there 
were two plays at least in which he was put on the stage. One 
was called The Grasshopper, the name of the other they don't 
remember. But they think it was in The Grasshopper that Whistler, 
Wilde and Frank Miles had a song and dance. He spoke of George 
Holmes who lives next door but one to old Chelsea Church, who 
knows a lot, and the parson Davies might too, but Davies never 
much approved of Whistler. Greaves never knew Rossetti and 
says that Rossetti never came to Whistler's. But Greaves was 
never invited to functions, he was in constantly in the evenings 
but does not seem to have been asked about by the others. Being 
a boat builder was, no doubt, against him. Miss Greaves also 
says that on one occasion at The Vale there was a terrible row 
between Maud and Mrs. Godwin, and that Jimmie threw them 
all into the street and shut the house. There was such a scene 
that Maud broke a blood vessel and Jimmie went off to the chemist 
and asked him to come and see her. But the chemist said he wasn't 
a doctor and refused. What the end of it was she did not seem to 
know. They all hated Mrs. Whistler whom Miss Greaves described 
as " a fat thing." Then came another Carlyle story: Greaves said 
that sometimes they would be together, Whistler and themselves, 
and other friends perhaps, leaning against or sitting on a wall by 
the river, and Carlyle would pass, and some one would say "It's 
a fine day, Mr. Carlyle," — all Chelsea was like a village then — and 
Carlyle would say "Tell me something, mon, I dinna ken," and 
pass on without even looking at them. Greaves says that the 
man in a picture of the Thames that corresponds in the descrip- 
tion to Mrs. Hutton's flapping, is one of their boatmen. 
1900J 119 

The Whistler Journal 

Friday, September 21st, igo6. J. went again to see the Greaves. 
As to Whistler and Velazquez, Greaves went with him to an Old 
Masters show at the Academy where they saw the Philip on horse 
back as Greaves called it — evidently the Olivarez or the Don 
Baltasar. Whistler was enthusiastic about the hunting picture in 
the National Gallery and the little head of Philip, and even then 
reviled the Turners. Greaves' father knew Turner and used to 
row him about just as the sons rowed Whistler. Turner used to 
walk about Chelsea with Mrs. Booth who was a big loud coarse 
Scotchwoman, and he would ask Greaves what kind of a day it 
would be. If he thought it would be fine they would go off, often 
being rowed over to Battersea church or the fields which are now 
Battersea Park. If it was not fine, he would say, "Well, Mrs. 
Booth, we won't go far." Turner wanted to buy the house from 
Mrs. Booth which Greaves says he had papered with drawings but 
apparently there were what he calls "private affairs" between her, 
Turner, and the other old woman from Queen Square and it never 
came off. Greaves does not remember Turner but he does remem- 
ber Mrs. Booth of whom as a boy, he was much afraid. Whistler, 
always reviled Turner. He says that Whistler often put paintings 
out to bleach in the back yard and that that dried them thoroughly, 
taking the oil out of them and making them look like ivory. He 
remembers the first house was not the third but the fourth from 
the corner, and Whistler painted in it (though Greaves don't 
remember the date when he went to it) the Princesse; the second 
and the third Symphonies in White; the interior of the studio, a 
picture he calls Violet and Gold — a Japanese thing; the portrait, 
the full length, of Leyland; and the Battersea Bridge; also the studies 
of the river in ice (of course not The Thames in Ice) which he worked 
on his grey absorbent canvas in yellow ochre, black, red and white. 
Sometimes he got the whole of one of these effects in fifteen or 
twenty minutes and only just touched it up afterwards. He says 
some of the pictures were painted on bare brown Hollands sized 
and that on the portrait of his Mother there was scarcely any paint 
at all and that the canvas was simply rubbed over to get the dress, 
and that is the reason why the dado shows through, while the 
120 [1900 



By Walter Greaves 
In the possession of the Rosenbach Co. 



By Whistler 
In the possession of the Estate of Mrs. Leyland 

{See page ii6j 




The Greaves 

handkerchief was nothing but a bit of white and oil. He now says 
Whistler mixed turps with the oil, probably he will at length get 
to the copal Whistler told J. was mixed with it. Not all the moon- 
lights came off, and he painted, on some occasions, one on top of 
another. One only was painted on a white ground. But as Whistler 
said the day is grey, the sky is grey and the water is grey, there- 
fore the canvas should be grey. The fireworks were painted on a 
lead ground. The dining room of the last house was blue with a 
darker blue dado and doors, and purple Japanese fans tacked on 
the walls and ceiling. The drawing-room, which was not finished 
until one afternoon when a big party was asked and they all worked 
like mad, was flesh colour. There were white-and-yellow doors 
and strips of Japanese tapestry about. The studio was grey with 
a black dado and doors as in the picture, and evidently the cretonne 
was there too as in the portrait of the Mother. He called the 
servants R. A.s and would ask Frith to bring this and Leighton 
to take that away. Even then, he was fond of mimicking things, 
saws and rockets, and loved American mechanical toys, and called 
himself the Pride of the Row. He bought the best brushes he could 
get and heated them over a candle to dissolve the glue, and then 
pushed them into whatever shape he wanted. The big table palette 
had the Butterfly in ivory in the corner of it. Greaves knew all 
these things because he passed days and weeks in the place standing 
beside him. He often put the coats of size on the canvas. Every- 
body came there. He remembers the Princess Louise and Wolseley 
and often there were strings of broughams and cabs before the door. 
He was ill once in the second house with some sort of fever, and 
ate ice which frightened Greaves. All the big canvases had to be 
oiled out, but, despite this, they all dried in again. He was drawing 
chimneys one day across the river and the other brother Greaves 
said, "But, Mr. Whistler, they are not straight." Whistler said, 
"But they are Whistler's." Another thing: Greaves says Howell 
came into the Lindsey Row house one day and saw a lot of plates 
kicking round under the press, Greaves thinks the London and 
some of the French ones, and Howell said, "Why, you have a gold 
mine here," and that's when it was Goulding was sent for, which 
1900] izi 

The Whistler Journal 

corresponds with Whistler's story to E. In the beginning he 
used big etching needles, big double ended ones and later those in 
wood like a pencil which he gradually cut and sharpened down, 
and eventually gave all to Greaves, telling him to use them because 
they wouldn't slip. Goulding came down once or twice to prove 
plates. Haden wanted the Fine Art Society to get Goulding to 
print the Venice plates but Whistler said he wasn't running an 
aquarium or a music hall. Greaves says that most of the Chelsea 
plates were done at one sitting, that is that he worked on them in 
the house, he never went back again. He said the stairs of the 
house were covered with Dutch metal. J. forgot to ask if it was 
only the banisters, or the whole thing in which case it probably 
gave Alma-Tadema his brazen idea. Whistler painted ships at 
the end of the hall one Sunday morning after he had taken his 
mother to church and before she returned. The blue screen with 
the gold moon and bridge upon it, which always stood in the 
studios in Paris and Fitzroy Street, Greaves says was painted for 
Leyland. But, if so, either Leyland never had it, or else gave it 
back to Whistler. Greaves got to know him when he first came 
there because the brothers were trying to paint, and Whistler, 
finding this out asked them to come and see him. Greaves is for- 
ever talking about mysterious "private affairs" but J. can get 
nothing definite out of him, and it probably refers to the gay times 
in the studio. Greaves says also that in doing the full-length Ley- 
land, he got into an awful mess over it, painting it out again and 
again until finally, he had a model in to pose for him nude, showing 
that the idea was suggested probably by Ary Scheffer or Leighton. 

Thursday, January iytk, igoy. Walter Greaves came in unex- 
pectedly while we were at lunch. He stayed quite a little while, 
repeating many things he had already told J., telling others in a 
disjointed fashion it is hard to follow. We showed him the photo- 
graph of Mrs. Hutton's Wapping and he was puzzled. It did not 
seem to him the picture he remembered, but then his memory 
may be at fault, for he was surprised at the Memorial Show to 
find the Westminster picture so much smaller than he remembered 
122 [1900 


Actual size, given by Whistler to Joseph Pennell 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

(See page 124) 

Used in Fulham Studio 


By G. P. Jacomb-Hood 



Once in the possession of Mr. Walter Sickert and attributed by him to Whistler 

The Greaves 

it, and from his suggestion of measurements Hi was clear that, at 
the Show, it looked to him much smaller than it was. Then 
he recalled odd incidents: of Phil Morris whom Whistler liked, 
and when anyone wondered why, he would say, "He fights my 
battles"; of an irate Captain, who lived next door to Whistler and 
was usually tipsy and then violent beyond measure. His pigeons 
somehow became a nuisance to W T histler who wanted Greaves to 
tell him so. Greaves refused, said the Captain was too violent. 
"Then I'll go," said Whistler, who was never afraid of anything; 
he did, and almost at once came flying out of the door, the Captain, 
armed with a sword, at his heels, and Whistler was fortunate, for 
sometimes people came flying out of the first floor windows. And 
Greaves remembers how Whistler would have a passing hurdy- 
gurdy in the little garden in front of the house to play for a quarter 
of an hour or so, because he liked music. "He was a rare fellow 
for music," Greaves said, and he and his brother would play for 
hours in the evening while Whistler danced. And he was "a 
rare fellow," too, for round games of cards and for all sorts of fun. 
He would imitate a man sawing, and once, out in the hall, he 
imitated another man quarrelling with him so well, that when he 
came into the room, Mrs. Greaves couldn't understand why he 
was alone and unhurt. 

There were times, of course, when Mrs. Whistler disapproved. 
She was indignant the Sunday she came home and found them 
painting the ships in the hall. Then more odd memories: of Albert 
Moore's going out sometimes in the boat with them at night; of 
pictures painted one on top of another, one of Harry Greaves on 
top of a moonlight, and, indeed, he always wondered that pictures 
like the Mother and Miss Alexander had lasted; of Eldon who lent 
him two hundred pounds and the indignation of Eldon's mother who 
came down upon Whistler for it; of Tinnie, who played so much 
better after X. had been living with Whistler. And then of the 
way Whistler worked, "he was a wonderful fellow for working," 
endless sketches on paper for the Cremorne and all the other 
pictures. And then of the drawing-room he painted at the last 
moment, that is on the very day he was to have a dinner party. 
1900] 123 

The Whistler Journal 

Greaves suggested that it would never dry in time, but Whistler 
said what matter, it would only mean a little paint on a coat or a 
dress. And then of that same dinner party when Whistler sent 
one of the Greaves' men to Madame Venturi's to borrow kettles 
and pots and pans, and the man came back covered all over with 
them. There was a testimonial got up, he couldn't remember why, 
to James Stansfield, an M. P., friend of Madame Venturi's, and 
she got the work of designing and making it for Whistler. But he 
didn't know anything about that sort of writing, and he handed 
it over to them. They had had practice in the heraldic marks on 
the Lord Mayor's and the City's barges, and they also were then 
making Whistler's frames for him, and they got it up, and Whistler 
paid them five pounds, and they made a tin box for it, and it was 
sent all over the world for the signatures of distinguished literary 
men. And it was travelling for six months. 

Monday, October 14th, 1907. Went to see the Greaves at Fulham. 
Did not hear very much that we had not heard before, except that 
the brothers helped to fix the "Pink Palace" and studio in Fulham. 
The cottage where Whistler lived was almost directly opposite 
their house. It has been pulled down, and two little shops built 
there. A little further west is the gate leading to the group of 
studios where his was. It all looks shabby enough now. Miss 
Greaves talked chiefly of Whistler's gaiety, it was all wonderful, 
she told again how he used to come in to them in the evening. 
His son, she said, was Jo's and was born at No. 7. Jo's sister, got 
up like a French nurse, took care of him and would take him out 
walking, up and down the Row. Then a carriage came one day, 
and French nurse, baby and all, got in and went to Paris. She 
thought Whistler was jealous of other people. He would never 
let the two "boys" show anything. Their father did not like them 
working with him, leaving a business that paid good money. She 
said that No. 7 Lindsey Row and the two other houses west of it 
were not part of the palace, but stables and outhouses had stood 
there. Whistler, she said, used to give money to X. to pay the 
weekly bills and X. would call for her sister and take her out and 
124 [1900 

From a drawing by G. P. Jacomb-Hood 


- ■ ; i ■ ■ * \ ■ ■ ■ • H 




DRY-POINT. M. 141 

(See £age ni5) 

The Greaves 

give her a wonderful lunch and send her home laden with flowers 
and chocolates, and the bills never got paid. Greaves said the 
door at No. 7 was literally open. And that was about all. except 
to repeat what we had already heard. 

Two or three years after these visits, drawings and prints attributed 
to Whistler and found in Mr. Spencer's second-hand bookshop in 
New Oxford Street were brought to J. by more than one collector 
and bookseller for his opinion. He saw faint suggestions of Whistler 
in some of them, but that was all, and he did not hesitate to say 
positively that they were not Whistlers. His idea at the time was 
that they might be by Greaves from whom they were said to have 
come, together with a packet of Whistler's letters to him and his 
mother, and that the mistake might have arisen from careless 
cataloguing. Some were signed by a Butterfly which was not 
convincing enough in itself to stand against the evidence in the 
drawings. More astonishing were the paintings presently sub- 
mitted to him. 

Thursday, September 15th, iqio. Walter Dowdeswell wrote to me 
on Tuesday that he had something of extraordinary interest to put 
before us, and would we be in town in two weeks' time. I wrote 
at once that J. was sailing for New York on Saturday, couldn't he 
put the something before us at once? Yesterday he telegraphed 
asking us to come to-day at noon; we said yes, but when noon 
came to-day, J. was so busy I went alone. Walter Dowdeswell 
took me upstairs into the front room on the first floor — told me he 
had something by way of a sensation for me — that in our Life of 
Whistler we referred to rolls of paintings carried off at the time of 
the bankruptcy; well, some of those had been brought to him, they 
had been in a cellar for years; a most romantic story altogether 
but he couldn't tell it yet. Then he took me into a part of the back 
room curtained off, where the window is, and there in a semicircle 
were some ten or twelve canvases he said were Whistlers, most of 
them nocturnes and in the centre a full length portrait of a small 
boy in blue sailor dress. The nocturnes were almost all of the 
Battersea shore, but there was one something like Mrs. Potter 
Palmer's, one with a few figures in the foreground, and one in a 
I9OO] I2S 

The Whistler Journal 

gold, grey, and brown scheme. Several looked to me far too vivid 
and blue and hard for Whistler, but Dowdeswell said all had been 
in a shocking bad condition and had had to be cleaned and restored 
so that the vividness and hardness might be the restorer's. Then 
he brought in one after another, and these were finer: a West- 
minster; a large greenish-blue Battersea with wide foreground of 
water and the bridge in the distance to the right; another Batter- 
sea, apparently, with a big red-gold moon rising over the houses 
to the left; a grey stretch of river and banks with a little white 
yacht stranded in the foreground; there was also a little interior, 
a woman, with black hair done up high on her head, wearing a grey 
dress, standing in front of a Japanese screen, a mantelpiece not 
unlike the mantelpiece in The Little White Girl behind it, not par- 
ticularly good but the skirt was absolutely the Whistler of The Six 
Projects: evidently a study of Miss Spartali for La Princesse du 
Pays de la Porcelaine. None of these were signed. There was also 
in the front room a full length of a lady in brown velvet, with white 
lace fichu and white lace collar, standing, her face in profile to the 
right, her golden hair in a coil with a gold band about it and in her 
hand, held a little out in front of her, a bit of fine linen embroidery 
in a long narrow piece hanging, and the hand beautifully drawn. 
If by Whistler, a perfect knock down for Kenyon Cox and all the 
other fools who said he couldn't draw a hand. A gold buckle 
fastens the dress at the side. The pose is like Wliistler, the painting 
of lace and embroidery fine, but the head is too sharply cut out 
from the canvas to be like his work, though something like the 
Rosa Corder, and the treatment is still more unlike, though all 
this may be the restorer. On the left about the centre of the canvas 
is a little oblong panel with a W. in white sketched in like the begin- 
ning of a Butterfly, but so bright that it knocks the whole picture 
to pieces. Probably this too is the restorer. There was also a 
long ray of light, quite out of tone, apparently the fold of a screen, 
against which the model was standing. Old Dowdeswell and the 
other brother, Charles, joined us, in a great state of excitement. 
The old man — they say aged eighty — had come up to town on 
purpose. They felt that we ought to have the first chance to see 
126 [1900 

The Greaves 

these things, our book was so wonderful, no one knew better than 
they the difficulty to write about such a man and we had given 
such a true impression of him. ... I went back with J. at three. 
He agreed very much with me, didn't believe in the very clear 
vivid blue nocturnes, though the restorer might be to blame; he 
had no doubt of the Westminster, the green-blue Battersea, the 
bigger one with moon (there are two of this subject); the grey- 
brown one; the one with figures; the one like Mrs. Potter Palmer's; 
and perhaps one or two others; was doubtful of the little sketch 
for the Princesse and Walter Dowdeswell admitted part of the 
screen had been repainted; was more sceptical about boy and lady 
in brown. 

At last Walter Dowdeswell told the story. A lady who brings 
them things occasionally, told them of rolls which she had bought 
for nothing from a second-hand book-seller for the sake of one old 
English picture which she recognized for what it Was and sold to 
somebody in Munich. The Dowdeswells looked over the rolls. 
The paintings were shockingly dirty but they saw passages that 
were unmistakably Whistler and they bought them and she brought 
more which they bought too; they have about fifty in all; and> 
really, it was difficult to know how to pay her for she didn't know 
the value and asked nothing, and they knew the value and felt 
they should pay her more than she asked, and the end was she 
felt as if they had made her fortune for her, though I gathered 
that her eyes were enough opened to make them pay more for the 
second than the first lot. When he had finished J. said he knew that 
second-hand dealer, his place was in Holborn. No, Dowdeswell 
said. Then New Oxford Street, he was not quite sure which. Yes, 
said Dowdeswell. Spencer, said J. Yes, said Dowdeswell. So it 
is the shop where Elmer Adler last summer found the Whistler 
charcoal drawings and spoke of rolls of things being there. It 
looks as if the whole business might come from Greaves. In the 
end Walter Dowdeswell took us to a man, in a remote part of 
Camden Town, who is restoring a few. There were so many they 
have been given to different restorers. It was like the house of a 
little cheap dressmaker with horrible pictures on the wall and orna- 
[1900 127 

The Whistler Journal 

ments that gave the man away, J. suggested afterwards, like 
Whistler's "little something on the mantelpiece." He had two 
full lengths: one of a woman, middle-aged with black hair drawn 
rather tightly back, in a white muslin gown, date I should say the 
Sixties, standing against a white background with at the bottom a 
low dado of blue-and-white (tiles or matting) with a long green 
stroke of the brush on one side and two touches of blue on the 
other, very Whistler, and not much tampered with by the restorer 
though he was thinking of cleaning away the strokes of green and 
blue. The other was a full-length of a lady in blue, carried much 
further. Her hair is golden, worn in a fringe on the forehead, the 
face characteristic of Whistler, though the restorer — the damned 
fool J. says — wanted to clean the character, which he called dirt, 
out. The dress has a quilted under petticoat in front, the basque 
is long and pointed, there is a little puff at the top of the sleeve, 
the hand, unfinished, hangs at the side (the figure is seen in profile) 
and there are soft white muslin frills at the neck. It seems that 
the bottom of the canvas was in tatters or "ribbons," Dowdeswell 
said. The restorer has not only mended it, but touched it with 
dabs of crude blue that knocks the whole thing out of tone, because 
he says there wasn't any paint there, and J. thinks he must have 
done a good deal of repainting to the gown. J. wonders if it pos- 
sibly might be the remains of the portrait of Mrs. Mitford (Lady 
Redesdale) and Dowdeswell will find out. There was also a grey 
day, with figures and the plumbago works of Battersea on the 
opposite shore — the middle distance was absurd, and not Whistler. 
A Cremorne and a grey day with white blossoms were either not 
Whistler or entirely repainted by the fool restorer, and they sug- 
gested that those already at Dowdeswells may possibly be genuine 
and have passed through the same treatment. Altogether it was 
an interesting afternoon. There is no question that things did 
disappear at the time of the bankruptcy and auction, that there is 
comparatively little to represent some ten years or so of Whistler's 
work, and it is just possible that these rolls of paintings may be the 
explanation. They may have come from Greaves, from whom 
Spencer had letters and those charcoal drawings. From Spencer 
128 [1900 



Signed by Greaves 
In the possession of Messrs. Dowdeswell and Dowdeswell 



By Whistler 
In the possession of Burton Mansfield, Esq. 

The Greaves 

direct, Dowdeswell had bought for twenty guineas a package 
of letters all written as testimonials for Howell: one signed by 
Whistler, one by Millais, one by Rossetti. I sent Dowdeswell 
the addresses of Alan Cole, Mrs. Thynne, and Greaves who, we told 
him, could identify the pictures better than anybody, as they 
must all date back to before 1879 and few remain who knew 
Whistler and his studio at that time, except Alexander, Rawlinson, 
and perhaps Mrs. Whistler. Among the other canvases being 
restored is a Carlyle, just sketched in, a little different from the 
picture, Carlyle wearing his hat. And I should have said that 
there is a sketch of Carlyle on the back of the gold-brown nocturne 
and a sketch of sails on the back of another. There is also at 
another restorer's a full length of a boy in white shirt. Dowdeswell 
says he is not paying Spencer for the letters until Spencer gives 
him some clue to the history of the pictures. 

Friday, September 16th, igio. J. on his way to the Consulate 
taking out his papers on going to America, stopped at Spencer's 
where he encountered the clerk who had come down here with the 
signed etching that wasn't by Whistler. J. didn't know whether 
he knew him. He could get nothing out of the clerk who said he 
must wait for Mr. Spencer. In the meantime J. discovered the 
print of Drouet, which seemed all right, and a Fulham. When J. 
talked vaguely about there being piles of things in an upper story 
and an early English landscape some one wanted him to look at, 
Mr. Spencer knew nothing. And it now occurs to J. that when 
Adler was here and told him of the piles of stuff at Spencer's, very 
likely Dowdeswell's "find" was there, and that now even Spencer 
smells a rat. He said he was too busy to go into things, he loved 
pictures but the place was a book warehouse, and he did not know 
what he had, which is terribly evident. But we must get at the 
bottom of this story. On looking in our Whistler this morning, 
at the reproduction of The Music Room, it struck me that Lady 
Haden, as you see her in the mirror, is like the portrait of the 
lady in white Dowdeswell showed us at the restorer's yesterday. 
Also the book recalls to us that Redesdale described Whistler as 
1900] 129 


The Whistler Journal 

slashing the portrait of his wife and treating other pictures in the 
same way when threatened by bailiffs. At this period, Howell 
was much involved with Whistler, he was also on the Bankruptcy 
Committee. These things reappearing with the bundle of testi- 
monials makes one wonder if, perhaps, all these pictures came, 
directly or indirectly, from Howell or his heirs. Miss Chambers 
would never say. In the afternoon J. dropped in at Dowdeswell's 
again, more particularly to represent what a mess the restorer is 
making of the lady in blue and to beg Dowdeswell not to have 
anything more done to the canvases. A number of others had 
come from the restorer's in the meanwhile — several nocturnes and 
one, evidently from his Lindsey Row window, of the shore with a 
man, as evidently Howell, walking with a group of women — unmis- 
takably "The Cock and his Hens," as Whistler used to describe 
Howell. They hope to have more before J. goes. 

Saturday, September ijth. A telegram from Dowdeswell asking 
us to call before one and he could show us more pictures 
back from the liners. I was just off to Harpenden to see Mrs. 
Arthur Tomson and J. had to go alone. The Dowdeswells took 
him upstairs again into their front rooni and there were four or 
five more nocturnes which had just been lined, or rather two 
nocturnes and three grey days, small. One nocturne was probably 
an early one and first J. thought it was the railway bridge at 
Battersea with lights, but behind it there was something that 
looked like a hillside so it may have been somewhere else. The 
moon was outside of the picture but there were lights on the 
clouds at the top, on the hillside and a long reflection on the water 
which the imbeciles took for a crack and were on the point of filling 
up, and it took J. almost half an hour to convince them that they 
were fools and were doing their best to ruin the pictures. Another 
was old Battersea Bridge from his window, very like the one owned 
by Pope; in fact, it may be another canvas of the same subject 
which he never went on with; though as the houses in the back- 
ground are different it might be Putney Bridge done in the same 
way. But it was blocked in in solid masses of red, evidently with 
130 [1900 

The Greaves 

the intention of painting the light through the piers afterwards. 
It was painted in a reddish-brown, really just rubbed in. Another 
was a steamboat coming up the river and leaving a white line of 
foam right along either shore. These two long lines of white made 
a curious composition. There were also one or two unfinished and 
of no importance. The Dowdeswells insisted on taking J. off to 
lunch at the Cafe Royal and talked for hours. Coming back after 
a long consultation they decided to show him another which they 
said they had been afraid to all along. Lunch seemed to give them 
courage. They produced a full-length canvas rolled up, and spread 
it out on the floor. It was ragged, having been pulled off the 
stretcher, and was the usual sort of Whistler early canvas or rather 
cloth. It represented a woman seated in a deep window seat 
holding her hands, very badly painted, and a book in her lap. 
All the details of the window and the wainscotting painted black 
agree with descriptions of the room. The woman had yellowish 
hair. J. thinks it is most likely Tinnie Greaves, at least it has a 
suggestion of Tinnie Greaves as she is to-day. She is dressed in 
white and the Dowdeswells raved over the painting of some of 
the lace. The work is full of brush marks, especially under the 
chin where there was a great swab of reflected high light. Through 
the window Battersea Church and the mills are seen, painted as 
hard as nails, though the water and sky are good. Of course the 
Greaves may have done this, and Whistler tinkered at it. On the 
back is another full-length of a woman standing, or two twisted 
figures: the first evidently wore a big brown hat and a brown cloak 
trimmed with fur, with a great swob of a hand just rubbed in hang- 
ing down in front. On top of this was the head of a woman with 
florid complexion and red hair, wearing a little round black hat: 
without doubt Jo. This is painted right over the head and hat of 
the other figure, or else the head is changed. The bust is absolutely 
gone, nothing but dirt and rags and the liner said it was impossible 
to do anything with it unless it was lined. J. suggested to put 
canvas round the edges, he said that would tear, and J. said then 
he had only to put it between glass. They will probably ruin the 
whole thing. The talk went on from twelve to five. 
1900] 131 

The Whistler Journal 

Monday, September igth. To the restorer's with Dowdeswell. 
There we saw first a large full-length of a small boy, standing about 
the centre of the canvas, against a screen a little higher than him- 
self with green frame and white panels. He is seen in profile, his 
hair is yellow and worn in a fringe over his forehead, he wears a 
white muslin shirt and white muslin breeches, low black shoes, 
and stockings with black and white horizontal stripes. The pose 
is childlike and simple and full of charm, the face delicate, the figure 
not carried as far as the screen. On the floor is black-and-white 
matting, there is a low wainscotting painted green, and in the 
upper part of the canvas, to the right and above the screen, is a 
print apparently of Battersea, with a wide white mount and a 
narrow black frame. It is one of the best of the things we have 
yet seen. The restorer said it was covered over with gum when 
it came to him, which certainly agrees with the description of 
Whistler's treatment of his pictures at the time of the bankruptcy. 
On a smaller canvas was a three-quarter length of a lady in white, 
the dress in the fashion of the Sixties. She is standing in the centre 
of the canvas, turned full face, she is dark, her short upper lip 
shows her teeth, and her black hair is rolled up on the top of her 
head somewhat in the fashion of the little figure in grey before the 
screen, the study for La Princesse, which Dowdeswell showed us 
the first day. Her arms hang at her sides and around the wrists 
are curious deep cuffs or wristbands of some thicker and heavier 
white muslin. She stands against a greenish-black curtain, rather 
elaborately finished in comparison with the figure which is not 
carried very far, and the face which is hardly more than rubbed in. 
This is much less interesting. It might be one of the Greek group 
of his friends, an Ionides or a Spartali. There was also a small, 
slight sketch of a woman in blue (oils) that might have been a 
study for the big portrait': there is the blue gown, the pointed 
basque, the puffed sleeves, only the figure seems to have a blue 
cloak over the left arm. 

Tuesday, November, ist igio. Dowdeswell showed me to-day a 
canvas, rather small, that was in too shocking a condition to be 
132 [1900 

The Greaves 

restored. It was the figure of a woman in blue drapery, standing, 
in the back-ground blue lines which might have been lines of the 
railing of a balcony or of a painted frieze. There were great dabs 
of paint, as if put on with a thick brush, across the figure, the whole 
canvas was dirty and grimy, and ragged at the edges where it had 
been torn from the stretcher. 

These notes give our impressions at the time of the remarkable 
collection of canvases bought by the Dowdeswells from Madame 
Frida Strindberg, the lady of whom they spoke in their story of 
the transaction. Mrs. Dr. Whistler, Mr. Alan S. Cole, Mr. Heine- 
mann, Robert Ross, Lord Redesdale, the Ways, to whom the can- 
vases were submitted, were bewildered, certain that some were 
Whistler's, uncertain about others, struck as we were by the differ- 
ence in quality, many of the paintings being as commonplace as 
many were masterly. The collection as a whole was fine enough 
for T. R. Way to write afterwards to the Dowdeswells to congratu- 
late them on their Whistlers. Other rolls were sold to Mr. William 
Marchant, others offered to Ernest G. Brown, with letters accept- 
ing Whistler's invitations to his Sunday breakfasts. A canvas or 
two passed into the hands of Messrs. Reinhardt. All came from the 
shop of Mr. Spencer who announced that he had also a bundle of 
Whistler's old brushes and had already sent Whistler relics to 
America. The condition of the canvases before the restorer had 
touched them naturally interested us, as it did the Dowdeswells, 
for they were exactly as T. R. Way had already, and now again, 
described the canvases bought by his father when he served with 
Howell and Leyland on the Committee of Examiners to settle up 
Whistler's affairs at the bankruptcy. For a guinea old Way pur- 
chased Whistler's unfinished canvases which were rubbish to the 
auctioneer. Way's story was that Whistler told him to take the 
rolls, Whistler's that he asked Way to purchase them and keep them 
for him. Years afterwards Whistler claimed them. Way refused to 
return them all. And that was the end. When Whistler thought 
his confidence had been abused, he could say things that hurt, 
and now he said it was only what was to be expected, his mistake 
had been to associate with tradesmen, and he would have nothing 
more to do with father or son. That Whistler in his difficulties 
asked people he thought he could trust to bring things from the 
White House, we know for we have seen his letter to Walter 
Greaves, telling Greaves to go to the White House and take for his 
own etchings any of the Japanese paper he liked, though some 
1900] 133 

The Whistler Journal 

must be left. That other things disappeared, we also know, for 
we have also seen his letters from Venice to Mrs. Dr. Whistler 
begging her and the Doctor to hunt up missing canvases, especially 
the Lobsters and Mount Ararat caricatures of Leyland, a Blue Girl, 
a version of The Three Girls. He sent an urgent message to Way 
and to Eldon, then much in the studio, imploring them to trace 
these caricatures which he valued and which he feared Howell 
and Leyland had hatched a plot to destroy. Of much that went 
on during the bankruptcy proceedings, evidently he had no knowl- 
edge. At less agitated times Whistler, though usually over careful 
of his work, could be inexplicably careless, leaving his canvases 
here, there, and everywhere. After his death W. C. Alexander 
returned to Miss Philip paintings and drawings which had been in 
the Campden Hill house ever since Whistler stayed there to paint 
Miss May Alexander. We have spoken of the things that turned 
up at Howell's house in Selsey Bill. T. R. Way remembered beau- 
tiful seas painted in the Channel Islands — "most interesting and 
unlike anything else he had done" — which vanished. Towards 
the end, the disappearance of work from his Paris studio worried 
him to distraction when his health depended upon his not worrying 
at all. The bankruptcy was the opportunity for the greatest care- 
lessness and, apparently, the greatest advantage was taken of it. 
Some years later on, Thomas Way gave him back one roll of large 
six-foot full-length portraits: the Sir Henry Cole, a Miss May 
Alexander, three Miss Leylands. One of these three is probably 
the painting in the Brooklyn Museum. Of another in riding habit, 
a drawing reproduced in M. Duret's Whistler, T. R. Way said 
was a sketch, though it looks to us more like the Mrs. Cassatt. 
Other rolls which Way had divided with his son, they refused to 
give up. Out of these came an unfinished Valparaiso now in the 
National Collection; a Cremorne now at the Metropolitan; a nude; 
a portrait of Miss Leyland, a Blue Girl, in such a state that only 
the flowers in one corner could be saved— a fragment Freer bought; 
the Lobsters and Mount Ararat which Thomas Way was asked to 
trace but apparently could not and we believe they too were sold 
to Freer. T. R. Way told us that Whistler, looking over the can- 
vases, saw on one, emerging from the muck with which it was 
covered, two black slippers against a white ground, and recognized 
the feet of a White Girl shown in his 1874 exhibition in Pall Mall. 
That made Way set to work to clean and repaint it. For long 
this portrait, for which he thought Jo must have posed, hung in 
his father's house in Brunswick Square. Whistler saw it there 
after the repainting, objected, and Way cleaned off his own work. 

134 [1900 



In the possession of John F. Braun, Esq. 

Attributed to Whistler 


The Way Collection 

The Greaves 

"The over-painting was removed with the painter's knowledge," 
according to a note in the catalogue when Way sent it to the Fair 
Women show held in London in 1910. "A sadly battered ghost 
of a Whistler," was E.'s impression; "a peculiarly poor Whistler, 
a shadow and not significant at that," was the prevailing opinion 
among the critics. It was again repainted by T. R. Way, sold by 
his sisters after old Way's death, brought to New York, bought 
by Airs. Thaw, from whom the portrait, or what is left of it, passed 
into the possession of Mr. John F. Braun of Philadelphia.* That 
no Thames nocturnes were in his father's rolls had always been a 
wonder to T. R. W T ay, he wrote to a London paper after the dis- 
covery of the rolls at Spencer's. And it is astonishing, for during 
the years when these unfinished portraits were begun, Whistler 
gave as much time to the river as to his sitters. 
The canvases in the Dowdeswell rolls were, many of them, in as 
desperate a state and were restored as thoroughly. Restoration 
usually means destruction. It is worse in America probably than 
anywhere else. The Lange Leizen in the Johnson Collection is a 
wreck. Almost every picture in many American collections has 
been, or will be, ruined by cleaning. Everything is reduced to a 
ruinous level of freshness by rubbing and scouring and scrubbing. 
The bloom of time is removed for the benefit of the American 
collector who cannot understand it — or art either — and if this 
is not enough the works are entirely repainted. It is not so long 
ago that J. was dismayed by seeing an American restorer spit 
on his thumb and rub with all his might the glaze off a very old 
Master. It looked new enough in all conscience and perhaps, with 
further rubbing a picture by James Montgomery Flagg or Charles 
Dana Gibson appeared under it. On another occasion J. caught a 
dealer with a rough cloth endeavoring to rub the whole face in 
another portrait up to the high light on the chin, saying the rest 
of the face must be dirty. If in fifty years any old pictures are 
left in America, it will be because they have not been tampered 
with by dealers, restorers and collectors. A Whistler factory is 
working overtime as every American collector now has to have a 
Whistler and they are all signed, but scarce one is by the artist. 
In Chicago, in the autumn of 191 1, J. was shown a marine, one of 
the canvases bought by the Dowdeswells from Madame Strindberg 
and sold by them to another dealer. Everybody who saw it 
declared it a genuine Whistler. The fact coming to the knowledge of 
Madame Strindberg, led to trouble over the question of payment, 
and she demanded all the canvases back from the Dowdeswells 

* Note — Mr. Braun has had Way's and probably later painting cleaned off, 
and in this case the picture really has been restored. 

1900] I35 

The Whistler Journal 

including this marine which had passed into the possession of 
Messrs. Reinhardt. The Dowdeswells then withdrew their collec- 
tion from exhibition and sale. 

Up to this time we had heard the name of Walter Greaves only 
once in connection with the rolls — when Messrs. Dowdeswell told 
us of one roll offered them but refused, in which they came upon 
"strange things" signed Walter Greaves. Now, however, his name 
was to become a nine days' wonder. Mr. Marchant found the 
canvases he bought in the same deplorable condition, dirty and 
neglected, and certainly those he showed J. were about as bad as 
they could be. Mr. Spencer gave an ingenious explanation of the 
holes in some of them. Whistler, when he could not afford new 
canvases, bought old paintings, so old that they sometimes devel- 
oped holes. Then he would tell Greaves to paint a tiny frame round 
the hole, and the device could be noticed in one of the portraits 
by Greaves. Ingenious but, we fancy, Mr. Spencer's own. Like 
the Dowdeswells, Mr. Marchant had the canvases restored. Then 
he looked up Greaves, arranged an exhibition in the Goupil Gallery 
in May, 191 1, sent out cards for a show by "Walter Greaves 
Pupil of Whistler," and published a catalogue. The card attracted 
small attention. The note of the private view in The Journal is: — 

Thursday, May 4th, igu. In the afternoon I went to the Goupil 
Gallery to see the Greaves show. It is given in the largest and 
smallest of the rooms on the first floor. In the small room are 
the etchings and one water-colour — the etchings reminiscent of 
Whistler. In the large room, the paintings; one of the first, a large 
full-length of Miss Alice Greaves — "Tinnie " — in blue gown. Oppo- 
site hangs another of "Tinnie" in the same sort of a gown only in 
black and white: white front quilted and black train. The Carlyle 
I saw in the Greaves' house is there, a portrait, small, of Walter 
Greaves, and a still smaller one of Harry Greaves. The rest are 
almost all of the river at Chelsea, streets in Chelsea, and Cremorne. 
It seemed to me easy to see at a glance which were the pictures 
Greaves painted for himself, and which under the influence of 
Whistler. One or two blue Nocturnes and one or two grey Batter- 
sea Bridges were obviously slavish attempts at imitation. The 
things that were entirely his own struck me as common in vision 
and treatment. I met first Hind, who wanted to know what it 
136 [1900 



In the possession of Alan S. Cole, C. B. 



By Whistler 
Tate Gallery, London 



By Walter Greaves 
From the N. Y. Herald 

The Greaves 

meant, and it was too direct a crib from Whistler. Then I talked 
to Marchant, who told me the whole thing was a most remarkable 
story. Rolls of canvases in the worst state he had ever seen can- 
vases in were brought to him, he had one or two cleaned and began 
to see things in them, then found the name Greaves on one, hunted 
him up, found him in the most deplorable condition in the Fulham 
Road house, so deplorable that he sent down bits of furniture 
afterwards, and the result is the Exhibition. It is an extraordinary 
story and adds to the mystery of the Dowdeswell rolls. Then I 
saw Greaves, who was jumpy. He told me Whistler had worked 
on the Carlyle, had come in to see him and his brother while they 
were doing it and criticised their work. They had painted the 
mount of the print on the wall white and he said it would never 
do and then painted it grey in tone with the wall. He said also 
that The Balcony and one or two others were painted from 
Whistler's window, and they were always doing them, sometimes 
one on top of another. The one of Battersea Bridge, under the arch, 
to which he refers in his catalogue he said he and his brother had 
done and then Whistler saw it and said, "why, you boys have 
got something nice there," and after that he painted his Battersea 
at the Tate. It was private view, but nobody else there except 
two men and two women, and an old man and his wife with whom 
Greaves was talking. He introduced them as old Chelsea people, 
and the man said he was so glad to meet me, he was a great 
admirer of my husband's and my work, he knew it — from the 
illustrated catalogues! 

The catalogue attracted more attention than the card. In the 
Preface, over Greaves' name, it was stated that he painted Passing 
Under Battersea Bridge, which was signed and dated, in 1862 and 
exhibited it the same year in the International Exhibition at South 
Kensington where for several years, International Exhibitions of 
paintings were held. This was proved a mistake, as no pictures by 
Greaves were shown there that year. Probably only a few peo- 
ple would have been interested, had not the press of Great Brit- 
ain in the meanwhile broken out in praise of the unknown pupil 
whom Whistler suppressed — the pupil who was the master from 
whom Whistler learned everything. The Times started the ball 
1900] 137 

The Whistler Journal 

rolling with a notice, under the title "An Unknown Master" — 
a master whose naivete was so different from the "cosmopolitan 
cleverness" of Whistler, who was the British De Hoogh, whose 
drawing of boats had never been surpassed, whose work, indeed, 
bore the same relation to Whistler as the Giorgionesque Titian to 
Titian. This was printed on May 4th. It was enough. The 
floodgates opened. Two days later P. G. Konody of The Daily 
Mail was asking how much Whistler owed to his pupil, and on' 
every side critics tumbled over each other in their eagerness to 
overthrow Whistler and set up Greaves in his place. Two or three 
kept their heads. Robert Ross in The Morning Post saw in Greaves 
a convenient "New Amico di Sandro." E. F. Strange in The West- 
minster Gazette pointed out the absurdity of it, especially so soon 
after the Whistler Memorial Exhibition. But they were exceptions. 
"Whistler Dethroned" was typical of the prevailing headline 
which, growing bolder in America, became "Art Tragedy Shows 
Vanity of Whistler," "Now Critics are Asking Which was the 
Master?" "Was this Artist Whistler's Ghost?" "The Crushed 
Genius," "The Other Whistler," "Casting Whistler in the Shade." 
British criticism decided that Whistler was artificial compared to 
Greaves, that Whistler exploited his obscure admirer, that Greaves 
was the first to paint nocturnes, that he accomplished what 
Whistler spent his life trying to do, that it looked bad for Whistler, 
that Whistler was at last exposed — and a jolly good thing too! 
The miserable Yankee. The question was whether a shred of 
Whistler's reputation would be left. As he was not alive to defend 
himself, there was the end of the Yankee. 

Marchant's gallery now was crowded. Authorities urged the 
acquiring of at least one Greaves for the Tate, the voice of Sickert 
was heard crying " Au Louvre with Tinnie Greaves." Many 
paintings and, we believe, all the prints were sold. Among the 
purchasers were Sir Hugh Lane, John, Orpen, Nicholson, North- 
cliff e. Robert Ross, who gave us this list, suggested that Nicholson 
must have bought his just to prove his decency in not minding 
the way Greaves was overshadowing his own exhibition in another 
room, Northcliffe possibly to please Konody, his critic on The 
Daily Mail. 

It was absurd and preposterous, and might have been ignored like 
all foolish criticism and discoveries. But the dates in the catalogue 
were used by the critics as a basis of fact upon which to build up 
their exaggerations, especially the date 1862 on Under Batter sea 
Bridge which, Greaves claimed, gave Whistler the idea for his Old 
Battersea Bridge now in the Tate Gallery. It was an extraordinary 

138 [1900 

The Greaves 

tale for this meant that Greaves' picture was painted before 
Whistler was settled in his first Lindsey Row house where the 
Greaves brothers began to work with him, and that Whistler 
borrowed the motive about ten years later. It was the more 
puzzling because few could look at the picture without seeing two 
distinct qualities of work in it, as if it were the work of two people 
or two periods. Mr. A. S. Hartrick assured us that, more 
curious still, if examined very carefully it looked as if a piece of 
canvas had been added where "Greaves, 62" was signed — as if 
the grain of the canvas below the piece ran quite differently, 
slanting, while the grain above ran almost horizontally. The 
matter was altogether too grave to be allowed to drop by those 
who cared for Whistler's reputation. This was why J., Heinemann, 
Mr. Cole, Robert Ross, and any number of artists began to make 
investigations. It was discovered not only that Greaves' dates 
were inaccurate but that the preface was prepared by Mr. Mar- 
chant and then signed by Greaves. J. wrote to The Times which 
refused to publish his letter. Then Heinemann wrote and his 
letter was published. The Times critic, ignoring the effect of his 
article, washed his hands of the whole business. He had praised 
Greaves for his unlikeness, not his likeness to Whistler, he said. 
But J., in the meanwhile, sent his letter to other papers which 
did print it. Critics began to waver. Those who had been eager 
to exalt Greaves began to talk of his inexperience, a painter tech- 
nically not too well equipped. One went to the length of saying 
the Greaves Bubble had Burst, but threatened with a libel case ex- 
plained it away. The preface, we think, was omitted when the error 
of date was pointed out and proved. Some of the pictures, it 
was said, were withdrawn from sale and the dates removed from 
some of the canvases and some of the entries in the catalogue. It 
was Alan S. Cole who exposed the statement in the Catalogue. He 
was referred to as an official of South Kensington. J. found him in 
the Athenaeum Club, they visited Marchant's gallery, and they 
looked up a South Kensington Catalogue of that and other years. 
There was no picture by Greaves shown in 1862 and as Cole said, 
"my father thought me a genius, but even he would not have 
chosen me as art director at the age of sixteen." Marchant ad- 
mitted that the Introduction to the Catalogue was not written 
by Greaves, only signed by him. 

The collection later came to America, heralded by a pamphlet in 
which Mr. Marchant gave his statement of the Greaves affair, 
calling it A reply to an attack on a -pupil of Whistler. When the 
pictures were shown at the Cottier Galleries, New York, in the 

1900] 139 

The Whistler Journal 

winter of 1912, an equally misleading introduction or preface to 
the American Catalogue was concocted by Dr. Christian Brinton. 
It was a wonderful production, beginning in the G. P. R. James 
manner: "Shortly before noon on May 5th last there slipped 
quietly into the Goupil Gallery in Regent Street a timorous, 
unassuming little man," and so on for many pages in which Tinnie 
Greaves, "fresh as a flower," is seen going to Cremorne Gardens 
in Whistler's company, and, with her sister — "these wholesome, 
generous-hearted English girls" — helping Whistler, their "deft 
and willing hands" making the rugs upon which his models posed 
— altogether an appeal to the gallery for Dr. Brinton believed it 
was the life story of Greaves that had gone "straight to the big 
responsive heart of the British public." It would have been only 
funny had not Dr. Brinton re-echoed the London critics, their 
statements and conclusions when the Greaves folly was at its height. 
Unfortunately for him and the owners of the galleries, J. happened 
to arrive in New York while the exhibition was being held and he 
exposed Dr. Brinton's mistakes. The pictures were disposed of at 
auction, fetching small prices, and Greaves has not often been 
heard of since. 

Greaves, after the show in London, signed we believe all the paint- 
ings and those owned by Dowdeswell which, as we suggested, he 
was asked to examine. He claimed the canvases in the other rolls. 
But we have never heard that he explained the ragged edges or 
the smudges of black and the glue-like substance with which they 
were defaced. There was a reason in Whistler's case, but none in 
his that we know, unless the faithful pupil felt compelled to follow 
the master to this extreme of self-sacrifice. Nor did he explain to 
what extent the paintings had been further ruined or improved by 
the restorer. We saw what the restorer did to some of the canvases 
that came out of Messrs. Dowdeswell's rolls, and Mr. Kerr-Lawson 
(on September gth, ign) gave us an idea of the restorer's share in 
others out of Mr. Marchant's collection. At the Greaves show 
Lawson, pointing to one or two of the pictures, said they looked 
as if Whistler had begun but not finished them, had thrown them 
aside until the canvas was all cracked and dirty, when Greaves 
probably came along, cleaned them, filled up the cracks and re- 
painted them. "O no!" said the assistant, "it wasn't Greaves 
who did that, it was the restorer!" At the International Exhibition 
in the new Grosvenor Gallery, in 191 2 — J. was away at the time — 
one of the rooms, with its gorgeous rose brocade hangings, was 
devoted to nocturnes catalogued as Greaves that had not hitherto 
been seen — a curious tribute to the memory of Whistler. They 

140 [1900 

The Greaves 

made the same impression as the other Greaves collections, though 
no excitement this time in the press. The tendency was to dismiss 
them as "Whistlerian exercises." It was difficult to understand 
how a man who could paint some canvases of utter commonplace, 
could paint others so suggestive and beautiful that Whistler would 
not have been ashamed to sign them. At the private view they 
roused small interest save in artists who delighted in the beautiful 
nocturnes, full of rare Whistler qualities; while an official in the 
gallery, jesting at his friends' bewilderment, was heard to ask 
if they had been to "The Whistler Room." Portraits we had 
seen at Dowdeswell's were hung at other International Exhibitions, 
when The Times thought they were hung too high for faces 
and hands to be examined, that they were subjects rather for the 
archaeologist and the historian, as if the critic were writing of an 
Old Master so long dead that only paintings remain as documentary 
evidence. Later a number of full-length, life-size portraits of 
Whistler and several small ones turned up, some of them bought 
by the Rosenbach Company of Philadelphia. One was sold to' 
Toledo, one to the business-like directors of the Pennsylvania 
Academy of the Fine Arts. Before they left England, a small 
half-length was purchased for the gallery at Merthyr Tydvil, 
Wales. Had Whistler sat for them, it would have taken years of 
his life and almost all are in the supposed costume of the same 
period, even to the hat. But if one looks up the portraits of 
Whistler with Chase and Menpes in the Eighties, it will be seen 
that he was then still wearing a curly brim and Chase a straight 
one. According to Menpes, when Whistler first saw Chase's hat, 
he said, "Ha, ha! what have we here? This is good! I like the 
lines of this hat ! " and in less than a week was wearing one like 
it: a story which gives the date, though some of Greaves' portraits 
are dated between sixty-nine and seventy-six. There is no evidence 
of Whistler ever having posed to Greaves at all. Whistler never 
referred to having posed, none of these pictures was ever shown 
or even heard of during his lifetime so far as we know, though 
Greaves told us that Whistler once painted Harry Greaves on top of 
a moonlight. Some of Greaves' portraits bear a striking resemblance 
to contemporary photographs and the caricatures by Spy and Ape. 
The portraits painted on the walls of the old Streatham Town Hall 
by the two brothers are similar in manner and treatment — the 
portraits that remain, that is. Some heads had been carefully 
scraped out when we were there, among them, we were told, a 
portrait of Whistler and another of Henry Irving. On the walls 
were also imitations of Chinese decorations, Albert Moore clas- 

1900] 141 

The Whistler Journal 

sicisms and numerous nocturnes, rank but artless imitations of 
Whistler. Whistler knew all about the decorations, was the first 
from whom we heard of them. A correspondence on the subject, 
published in the London Star, was sent to him by Mr. D. Croal 
Thomson, and in acknowledging it Whistler explained that the 
Greaves were his pupils — more his pupils than any others had 
ever been — this was in 1 895; they were full of talent, he wrote, 
they had had no other master, for a time were always in the studio 
where they learnt everything they knew. The critics would have 
given the public the impression that Whistler had not allowed his 
pupils to exhibit during his lifetime — even Tinnie Greaves said so — 
had deliberately kept them in the background, as was written by 
one, "on the principle of the Turkish Sultans who killed off their 
brothers to avoid possible rivals for the throne." With his later 
pupils Whistler stipulated that they should not show without his 
permission, a condition they understood if critics make of it a 
crime. Also, he wished them to exhibit as his pupils, which is 
always done in France where students look upon it as an honour, 
not a hardship. 

But the irony of this criticism is in the fact that the downtrodden 
pupils were commissioned to decorate a Town Hall, and did so 
during Whistler's lifetime, while the master never got a chance to 
decorate a public building — the Boston Library — until too late to 
avail himself of it. How then did Whistler hold back his pupils? 
Whistler had painted no nocturnes in 1862, when Walter Greaves 
was at first said to have exhibited one, nor had Whistler influence 
in any exhibition or society at that date. Even the London Times, 
though at first it refused to admit that its critic would have ruined 
Whistler had his facts been correct, collapsed, and so did the rest 
of the British press, after Heinemann and J. exposed Mr. Clutton 
Brock's rhapsodies in The Times and the mistaken statements in 
the other papers, and made it clear it was a question not of relative 
quality but of fact. J. said at the time he had no quarrel with 
Greaves at whose success he was delighted, nor with Mr. Marchant 
whom he considered a clever dealer. He only wanted to point 
out the error in the dates and the use the critics made of it. But, 
certainly, had there been a scheme for the boosting of Greaves 
and the discrediting of Whistler, an attempt on the part of the 
critics to prove Greaves the real master and Whistler merely the 
pupil, the imitator, the pretender, it could not have been better 
arranged nor have failed more completely. 

Mr. Marchant employed Greaves for a long while at a guinea or so 
a week which he paid him in cash, and J. has seen him do so, for 

142 [1900 



By Walter Greaves. In the possession of the Rosenbach Co. 

'See page 141) 



Published in Vanity Fair 
(See page 141) 



By Walter Greaves 
(See page 141) 

The Greaves 

the poor man was in sore straits. Mr. Marchant also gave him a 
studio in the Howell and James building, and rumours went about 
of the work he was producing there to the wonder of some of 
Mr. Marchant's other artists who crowded about him to see him 
paint. Rothenstein was impressed by the rare passion and rever- 
ence of his work and the entirely new note running through all 
his pictures. Nicholson stood in awe of his marvellous powers as 
a technician. Walter Sickert proclaimed him a great master, and 
they all showed in the Goupil Gallery. It was to the credit of 
Sargent and Alfred East, among others, that, as Robert Ross 
reported, they were "on the right side." We never went to this 
studio, but we remember Mr. and Mrs. McLure Hamilton telling 
us that they strayed in by chance when looking for a studio adver- 
tised to let in the same building, and found Greaves, rather embar- 
rassed by the interruption, a canvas on the easel, round the floor 
canvases with huge yellow stars and fireworks just put in, waiting 
they supposed for the glazes and scumbles that would turn them 
into masterpieces. As far as we know, no new works came out of 
the studio. 

Among the early canvases signed by Greaves was one of striking 
merit and absolutely different from the rest. This was Boat Race 
Day, Hammersmith Bridge, fine as a Breughel, said to have been 
done by him at the age of sixteen. But never before, nor after, 
did he do, or at any rate show, anything like it, though another 
version of the race, devoid of merit, signed Greaves, was on the 
walls of the Streatham Town Hall. A study of a pond in Battersea 
Park was equally remarkable and equally different. Hung in a 
large group in New York, singly in London, were a number of 
water-colours signed by both Walter and Harry Greaves, while 
many prints — etchings and dry-points — not at all unlike unfinished 
and unsuccessful Whistlers — were in the Goupil Gallery exhibition. 
The water-colours were crude and amateurish. Before the Greaves 
excitement was completely over, one came up for sale at Robinson 
and Fisher's and Robert Ross thought it should be bought be- 
cause of its date, for as this was i860, it must therefore prove, 
he said, what Greaves was doing before he met Whistler. He 
would have bought it himself for ten pounds but a reserve of 
twenty-five, which no bidder seemed disposed to go beyond, had 
been placed on it. As more of Greaves' work in various mediums 
was seen, the more readily the intelligent critic agreed with G. R. 
Halkett of The Pall Mall Gazette that when Greaves tried "a 
flight unaided by Whistler's genius" he went into another cat- 
egory altogether. 

1900] 143 

The Whistler Journal 

The Greaves episode, from beginning to end, is extraordinary. 
The critics based their claim for him as the master of Whistler on 
the Passing Under Battersea Bridge signed by him and said by 
him to have been exhibited at South Kensington in 1862. When 
the mistake in the date was pointed out, the whole fabric of adula- 
tion of Greaves and depreciation of Whistler tottered and fell. 
Letters from Whistler to Greaves show plainly the relations 
between master and pupil. Whistler was willing to give the priv- 
ilege of his studio to his pupils that they might learn in it everything 
they could; not, however, to imitate and borrow. Greaves, begin- 
ning a portrait of his sister, Mrs. Ranger, appropriated Whistler's 
arrangement of blue on blue. Whistler warned him of the danger 
of wandering, if unconsciously, into his symphonies. "Don't you 
see Walter, you know how I continually invent — and invention 
you know is the cream of the whole affair and so easy to destroy 
the freshness of it. And you know that all the whole system of 
arrangement and harmonies which I most certainly invented, I 
brought you up in, so that it is only natural that I should expect 
my pupil to perceive all harmony in the same way — he must do 
it — for I have shown him that everything outside of that is wrong. 
. . . Suppose you were to see any other fellows doing my moon- 
lights — how vexed you would be. Well, nothing more natural 
than that you two should do them and quite right that the tradi- 
tions of the studio should go on through the pupils — but still for 
instance it would be absurd now to paint another White Girl. 
Don't you know what I mean?" 

Whistler's attitude revealed by this letter throws a strong light on 
the Greaves affair. No master wants the flattery of abject and 
misleading imitation, no student with anything in him wants to 
pay that compliment when he begins to feel his own wings. The 
critic was right who, when the letter was published in a London 
paper, quoted it as proof of Whistler's unselfishness in his treatment 
of Greaves. That Whistler would have prevented Greaves, or 
any other pupil, from exhibiting good work is sheer nonsense. And 
we know that he did not, that indeed, he went out of his way to 
help Greaves to exhibit. In 1873 he asked Mr. Alan S. Cole, 
from whom we have the facts, to show a painting by Greaves in 
the South Kensington Exhibition and Harmony in Blue-Gray was 
hung. In 1874 he again asked that a Greaves might be taken in, 
and a Harmony in White and Gray by Harry Greaves was shown. 
Not at that or any other time in his life did he have the power to 
keep Greaves from showing either in a public exhibition or at a 
dealer's. It was Greaves' own choice or the decision of Selecting 

144 [1900 

Jo and Maud 

Committees if he rarely showed during Whistler's lifetime, or for 
some time after Whistler's death. The canvases unloaded on Spencer 
were never seen, were never heard of until Whistler was safe out of 
the way, and it may have been hoped his defenders were too. Until 
after the Whistler Memorial Exhibition not a single work by 
Greaves was ever sent to the International Exhibition, J. was on 
the jury the whole time. 

Messrs. Dowdeswell sold the pictures first ascribed to Whistler at 
Christie's in 1917, when they were catalogued as Greaves and, if 
we remember, signed by Greaves though originally his signature 
was not on them. Like the paintings sold in New York they fetched 
small prices — the average was from one to seven guineas — with 
the exception of the big lady in brown. The sale passed almost 
unnoticed. Every once in a while another Greaves appears and 
sometimes is hung in the Exhibitions of the International Society 
of Sculptors, Painters and Gravers, where none was seen while 
Whistler was alive. To the Whistler Memorial Exhibition he 
contributed one or two unimportant sketches and drawings which 
he said were by Whistler. 

This is the first time the inner history of the Greaves affair has 
been written. But as criticisms which, had they been based upon 
fact, would have destroyed Whistler's reputation were made by 
the art critics of Great Britain, especially Clutton Brock and Paul 
Konody, and by Christian Brinton in America, it is well that a 
true statement should be put on record — and this is the truth. 


Thursday, July igth, igoo. When we were both out in the after- 
noon Keppel called with Roulrier, the Chicago print dealer. Keppel 
left a note to say he had a piece of news for us; the Caxton Club, 
with Mr. Roullier's assistance, were getting out a catalogue of 
Whistler's etchings, which would contain photogravures after 
everyone of his plates. It was to be published in a limited edition 
of two hundred and to be sold at twenty dollars a copy. This was 
a bombshell in our midst, for in the Life we have arranged with 
Heinemann to write, Whistler said he was not willing to have any 
of his etchings reproduced by photogravure. About ten, Whistler 
himself appeared, an extraordinary figure in white trousers, low 
1900] 145 


The Whistler Journal 

white waistcoat, dinner-jacket and the same grey felt hat set 
jauntily on one side. He was rather cross. "I have dined badly — 
came home late from the studio, was banished to a dining-room 
I do not like at the hotel, and went to the Tivoli with some vague 
idea of German beer. But I had a bit of veal swimming in gravy 
intended for a schnitzel and a potato salad that was lukewarm, and 
a piece of cheese that was strong — a shocking dinner — and, you 
know, if you happen to have a piece of American cake, I could 
eat that," and, of course I hadn't any. Began by reading us the 
article in The Star about China, in a state of delight over De Wet's 
breaking through Buller's ranks. . . . 

Then J. told him about the Catalogue. He was annoyed. He 
knew there was to be a catalogue, that was all right, they had come 
to him about it and were charming and polite. But the illustrations 
were evidently unexpected, though he gave me the impression of 
having committed himself unintentionally in some way, and so 
not having any redress. He began to write down on a bit of paper 
letters to Freer, to the Committee, to Eddy, and he must Write 
them at once, though Joseph reminded him that the post did not 
go until Saturday and he had better see Roullier before writing 
anything. Keppel might possibly be mistaken in detail. There- 
upon he began to make Keppel his scapegoat. What had he to do 
that he should be worrying about it? J. said that Keppel was 
surprised at the whole business, thought it scandalous if they had 
not Whistler's permission. He belonged to the Caxton Club him- 
self once, but resigned, they were nothing but rich pork-packers. 
"And what right has Keppel to sneer at pork-packers?" Whistler 
wanted to know, "what is he but a dry-goods man?" Then Wed- 
more came in for his share. J. wondered if they had used Wed- 
more's Catalogue? "So much the better if they have, then I can 
write letters about Wedmore that I would like to have published." 
He was almost snappish with J. "Why repeat it?" he said, "when 
I know it all already." Altogether, clearly he was annoyed and 
when it was arranged that Roullier should come to his studio at 
four, he had an engagement with Mr. Russell at five, and J. sug- 
gested that he and Heinemann should come a little before Roullier, 
146 [1900 

(See page 161) 


DRY-POINT. M. 77- 

Print from the destroyed plate 
Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

Jo and Maud 

he was furious "A regular invasion of my studio." But he saw 
the necessity and agreed. 

Another step in The Architectural Review affair. His letter to 
Wilson brought an apology from Abram to Grimaldi, and a request 
that Grimaldi would call again on Tuesday. "And then, you 
know, the Lord interfered. Grimaldi had a sunstroke and went to 
bed — and I dictated a very Whistleresque letter from Grimaldi to 
Abram, his regrets and he was ill, and the cheque was the thing. 
There was nothing to talk over." And so, about twelve, he went 
off, J. walking to the hotel with him. 

This note retains something of the excitement into which we were 
all thrown by the first news to reach us of the Catalogue planned 
by the Caxton Club. Mr. Keppel who brought the news was 
Frederick Keppel whom Whistler had unfortunately and mis- 
takenly ranked with "the enemies," and Roullier was Albert 
Roullier of the Chicago firm of his name. The agitation was great 
while it lasted, for any disturbance of this kind was irritating to 
Whistler when it interfered with his work, while to Heinemann and 
ourselves the results might have been serious because of the use 
of the illustrations which we feared might take from the importance 
of ours. However, nothing worse came of it than much worry and 
time lost for a few days. The Catalogue, eventually, was published 
without illustrations. It was compiled by Mr. Howard Mansfield 
and is the only complete catalogue of Whistler's etchings, for Mr. 
Kennedy gave up the descriptions and trusted to illustrations, and 
for practical work one is compelled to use both. The Illustrated 
Grolier Catalogue, compiled by Mr. E. G. Kennedy and published 
much later, contains a complete set of reproductions of Whistler's 
etchings. But they are not done by photogravure and there is no 
danger of their being confused with the originals. What Whistler 
was afraid of was that reproductions in photogravure might be 
made, as some had already been made, of the same size as the 
originals, and that collectors might be deceived by them, as indeed 
they had been during his lifetime. Since his death many of his 
etchings have been reproduced by photogravure, including a num- 
ber published by J. in his Etchers and Etching, but as these were 
all signed by Ringler, the photo-engraver, and as they are a differ- 
ent size from the originals, there is no excuse for any collector 
being deceived by them, though they are remarkably good repro- 
ductions. Whistler was always worried about the publication of 
1900] 147 

The Whistler Journal 

his prints and the minute we heard of the proposed Caxton Club 
venture, we realized what it would mean to him. 
It is because we know how Whistler felt in this matter that we 
regret the more the action of his executrix which led to much con- 
fusion among collectors of his lithographs. She would not allow 
Way, who alone understood anything about the stones from which 
he had printed Whistler's work, to print them, though Whistler, 
after he gave up Way and took the stones from him, had been 
willing for him to print the portrait of J. for our Lithography and 
Lithographers, sure that no one else could print it so well. Instead, 
Miss Philip turned over such stones as she chose to Goulding who 
knew nothing about them and did not know how Whistler wanted 
the proofs pulled, and who used for the reprints not Whistler's 
good old paper, but modern O. W. paper. The water mark can 
be seen on the prints, a guide to the collector of intelligence. They 
were not signed as they were printed after Whistler's death. Many 
of his lithographs were printed during his lifetime without his 
knowledge and later issued unsigned, and these were, as a rule, 
printed on old paper by Way. They are genuine, but not signed 
by Whistler. Miss Philip, we believe, asked for the reprints, sold 
by Dunthorne and as we have said unsigned, the same price that 
Whistler asked for proofs printed by Way and signed by himself. 
There was nothing that was not correct in this proceeding, but 
Whistler never would have permitted it. The whole affair was a 
failure, or rather it failed because Goulding used his own modern 
paper, by which the reprints can be easily detected. It has also 
been stated that Goulding was furnished with transfers instead 
of the original stones. The Ways certainly printed many proofs, 
giving one set to the British Museum and at last selling more or 
less complete sets at auction, while for long it was possible to get 
proofs at their office. On one occasion stones were brought to the 
Art Workers' Guild, printed from, and the proofs given away. But 
the Ways only imitated the editors of The Whirlwind. So long as 
Way's Shop was in Gough Square there were prints by Whistler 
in the windows. 

In January, 192 1, Messrs. Frederick Keppel and Co. showed in 
their gallery in New York a collection of lithographs and, concern- 
ing them, Mr. David Keppel told a curious story which he said he 
had from Mr. G. Meyer of Messrs. Colnaghi and Obach, London: 
— that to Miss Birnie Philip, along with the lithographic stones, 
Whistler left "a small supply of the finest old paper which he had 
collected, with definite instructions that she take a tirage and then 
render it impossible for further proofs to be taken ... by covering 

148 [1900 

Jo and Maud 

them with a sort of varnish which makes it impossible to print 
from them but leaves the stone itself with Whistler's drawing 
still visible." This statement of Mr. Keppel's is interesting and a 
surprise to us because, before these prints were exhibited in his 
gallery, we had only known of the prints pulled by Charles 
Goulding on 0. W. paper. Mr. Keppel further says that Whistler 
left a certain number of proofs printed by Way, and that these 
impressions were signed in pencil with the Butterfly. In order 
that there might be no confusion, Miss Philip stamped every print 
on the back with her initials; those of Way's printing with a stamp 
having a square border and those of Goulding's with a round one. 
He further says that as the stock of old paper was soon exhausted, 
some of the stones were printed on 0. W. paper, bringing the num- 
ber printed by Goulding to about thirty-five prints — not proofs as 
Mr. Keppel calls them — each. The whole story is confusing, 
though the prints are not, for Mr. Keppel further says that the 
number printed by Way and Goulding together was about sixty. 
As Way has most distinctly stated in his Catalogue that only six 
or seven of some of these stones were printed, it is not easy to 
make the numbers agree. Another thing, the lithographs were not 
printed by F. Goulding but by his brother Charles Goulding, and 
the use of the name Goulding is rather misleading as F. Goulding 
never printed lithographs, but turned them over to his brother 
who did. And the statement that they were printed under Miss 
Philip's directions hardly makes the matter clearer. Goulding 
told J. that she did come to his place while the printing was being 
done. The whole business, even down to the stones, as we have 
stated, is another Whistler mystery. The only genuine Whistler 
proofs upon which collectors can rely are those signed by the artist 
and printed during his lifetime. 

Friday, July 20tk. J. spent the day mostly between Heinemann's 
office, Keppel's rooms and Whistler's studio — with the result that 
a letter was written by Whistler to the Caxton Club to stop the 
publication of the photogravures after his etchings in the pro- 
posed Catalogue. 

Dined at Sauter's; no one else there but Whistler. An oppressively 
hot evening. We found the road up just before Notting Hill, and 
had to make a great detour, and were a quarter of an hour late. 
But Whistler was half an hour later; he had been to Kew, he said, 
hunting for the house. The talk at dinner was largely of the Boers: 
1900] 149 

The Whistler Journal 

the Sauters sympathizing, he could say what he wanted. After 
dinner, the men stayed in the dining room and talked about the 
International. When they joined us in the garden, he slept a 
little. But I was struck, when, afterwards we went up to the 
studio; with the interest he showed in Sauter's work, and the way 
he managed with a word to point out the defects or merits in it. 
There was a big more than life-size portrait of Prince Troubetzkoi 
on the easel — a sort of Sandow creature whose very size, as you 
looked, seemed to knock you down. Presently Sauter brought out 
a portrait he had done of himself, a half length, on a much smaller 
scale — a little less than life size. "There," said Whistler, "that 
is the way you saw yourself, isn't it, when you looked in the glass 
a few feet away? Then you must have seen Troubetzkoi like that 
too, and not like the giant you have painted." We all drove home 
together — but he slept most of the way. 

Sauter is George Sauter, a Bavarian artist, who came to London 
to live and then married Miss Lilian Galsworthy, sister of Mr. 
John Galsworthy. They had a delightful house and studio in 
Holland Park Avenue, where Whistler was always glad, as we 
were, to go. The house now stands for tragedy — the life in it 
wrecked by the war as was the life in so many other houses not 
only in London, but the world over. Sauter was first interned, 
then sent back to Germany. It is his own country, true, but the 
best years of his life were spent in England which, therefore, is 
for him the land of many associations and friends. With the 
feeling as it is now, the chances are he can never return, though it 
might be recorded that the English, more generous than we showed 
ourselves, realized that an artist has nothing to do with military 
affairs and got up a petition for his release from the internment 
camp. But since then the British Government has made his life 
a burden. The petition was signed, among others, by Lavery, 
Guthrie, the directors of several galleries, and other prominent 
people. But nothing came of it, except Sauter's deportation to 
the land where. he belonged by birth, exchanged with an English 
prisoner of war interned in Germany. 

Two reminiscences connected with Sauter have an appropriate 
place here. Years before, there was to be an exhibition in Munich 
and Sauter was appointed Commissioner in England. Whistler 
was asked to meet Herr Paulus, the manager of the exhibition, 
150 [1900 

The Centre Group of Works arranged by Whistler. Photograph 

Arranged by Joseph Pennell 


Whistler's Scheme. Photograph 
(See. Appendix I, page 305) 



/ /*-<...<♦->•<£ iCft-^h 

/^ W ~-/ a > 

." 7-x f^r 





For the Seal of the International Society of Sculptors, Painters and 
Gravers and the Final Design Used by the Society 

(See Appendix I, page 306) 

Jo and Maud 

and a distinguished company, at Sauter's father-in-law, Mr. 
Galsworthy's. He came about an hour late, but they had waited 
for him, and the old gentleman, in a severe tone, greeted him with 
the remark:_j "We are all so hungry, Mr. Whistler." "What a 
good sign," said Whistler, and they went immediately to dinner. 
It was at Sauter's house another evening that Mrs. Sauter told 
Whistler of Felix Moscheles' experience in Trafalgar Square 
shortly before at a Peace Demonstration. A knife was thrown 
that just missed him. "Ha! ha!" laughed Whistler, "and so 
Moscheles just missed the knife. So like Moscheles. Always just 
missing something. Ha! ha! And he just missed the knife." 
Sauter was for some time Honorary Secretary of the International 
Society, and a more faithful supporter and admirer Whistler never 
had. Whether Whistler was in London or Paris, if not at the meet- 
ings, which he always attended when he could, he had to receive 
a written copy of the Minutes with full explanations, brought or 
sent to him by the Honorary Secretary. He was not President in 
name merely, but he insisted on knowing everything that was 
done by the Society. 

During the whole of his Presidency, which lasted to the day of 
his death, the members of the International Society of Sculptors, 
Painters and Gravers, the title of which even was Whistler's, were 
absolutely though not abjectly devoted to their President. It was 
he who made the Society, his influence and energy which made it 
a success. There were at first scarcely any English members in it. 
They were mostly Americans, Frenchmen, Germans, Scotchmen, 
Irishmen, Scandinavians — only one or two English. If a meeting 
of the Council was to be important, Sir James Guthrie would 
come up from Edinburgh, and Thaulow and Blanche from Dieppe, 
where they had been consorting and intriguing with the allies and 
the enemies — in art, not war. 

One day, J. remembers, J. J. Shannon, a member of the Council, 
was elected to the Royal Academy. Whistler's abiding faith was 
that an artist should belong actively only to one society and always 
show in it, and, so far as he was concerned, that society was to be 
the International. The news of Shannon's election reached Paris 
and Whistler at once wrote, or wired, that Shannon must either 
decline his election to the Academy or resign from the Council of 
the International. If he did not, Whistler would resign himself. 
"It was no moment of half measures, peace was not their preoccu- 
pation. The Society was a fighting ship and carried the very best 
shots in Europe." A meeting was at once called. Shannon 
attended. He refused to resign from either. After a lengthy dis- 

1900] 151 

The Whistler Journal 

cussion it was arranged that he should be made an Honorary Mem- 
ber of the International Society, as already one or two Royal 
Academicians held that rank. The Council were aware that no 
such information could be written to the President, and they 
deputed Lavery and J. to go to Paris and straighten things out, 
if they could. 

They caught the nine o'clock train from Charing Cross. There 
were no cabins on the boat, no sleeping cars on the train, and, sad 
wrecks, they landed in Paris at dawn. They idled down the 
Boulevards, drinking as many cups of coffee as they could and 
eating as many brioches. They had wired they were coming, but 
they knew they could not see Whistler before ten or eleven, if even 
then, for he had answered they were to breakfast at noon in the 
studio. That was six hours away. Lavery had an idea. They 
would take a bath. They went into the well-known ark with the 
palm tree smoke stack that, from time immemorial, has stood in 
the Seine. They were given adjoining tubs, with a partition 
between and a little window in it. Lavery at once opened the 
window to ask J. if he had any soap, and of course he hadn't, soap 
never then being supplied in France. And so they ordered a piece, 
and after they had soaked and boiled themselves and passed it to 
each other, and read the papers, they went out to pay their bill, 
Lavery carefully carrying the soap. In the bill, it was five francs. 
The proprietor thought he had a couple of Englishmen. He soon 
found out that Sir John Lavery was very well acquainted with the 
artistic French of the Quarter. And, as a final piece of advice to 
the proprietor, he violently threw the cake of soap through the 
window into the river, only to remember that he had already 
paid for it. 

The rest of the morning was spent in visiting the Luxembourg and 
calling on Mrs. Whistler in hopes that Whistler might be there. 
Finally, they got to the studio, there to be received by Carmen, 
who had been posing in her birthday robe, and she then got break- 
fast. And after this was finished and Mrs. Whistler came up, he 
showed them new things and his phonograph which was a new toy. 
And he talked of everything, except the Society, until it was almost 
time for them to go. And then he told them just what had got to 
be done, and they hurried back in the three o'clock train to do it. 
And at the meeting called for the next day, it was done, and 
Shannon was made an Honorary Member and severed all executive 
relations with the Society. And it might be mentioned also that 
the Council's devotion for the President and the President's 
devotion for the Society went to the extent of everybody paying 
152 [1900 



Loaned by Mr. Chambers. 

(See pages 117, 161 and 300) 



Loaned by Mr. Chambers 

(.See page 117) 



Loaned by Mr. Chambers 
{See page 117) 

Jo and Maud 

their own travelling expenses. There was a large amount of corre- 
spondence with Whistler when J. became Honorary Secretary for 
a time, but most of this has disappeared. It may, and it is to be 
hoped that it will turn up again some day, for, when the letters 
were read to the Council, they showed Whistler's intense interest 
in the Society, his practical suggestions for its success, a perfect 
contradiction to all those who say that he had no business ability. 
At any rate, it is probable that there are copies of these letters in 
the possession of the executrix, and they ought to be published. 
His private letters were as full of the subject. When ill and unable 
to preside at meetings, he insisted upon J. coming or writing to 
tell him all that had happened — "to the Captain in his berth 
everything must be reported." The Journal is a proof of this — 
so are his letters to us. He wrote from Paris to urge J. to go to 
all the Council Meetings, to see to the hanging of the exhibitions, 
not to forget to look out for Forain, or Milcendeau, or Thaulow, 
for one reason or another in anxiety about his work. Plans of the 
galleries were forwarded to him in Paris and returned with sugges- 
tions even to the placing of chairs and tables. No detail was too 
small, no scheme too large that could add to "the finish and 
intimacy and mystery and general richness and concentration of 
the exhibitions." 

Thursday, July 26. Whistler came in for a few minutes early in 
the morning, about half past nine, a hansom waiting for him at 
the door, to say he would dine to-morrow evening to meet Mrs. 
Whitman. He wore his white waistcoat and trousers and his ham- 
mock hat, and, for the first time in my experience, seemed exhausted 
by the heat. He was too tired to say anything, except that he 
thought he would have to get out of it. Mrs. and Miss Philip are 
going over to Ireland on Monday or Tuesday, and will look for a 
house and then he probably will join them. 

Friday, July 27th. Whistler and Mrs. Whitman came to dinner, 
and I left the conversation to them: Mrs. Whitman, the intelli- 
gent, emotional, "brainy" Boston woman, with a quotation, an 
anecdote, the right word for every occasion. Whistler appreci- 
ative of it all. Why did he not come home? Such a welcome was 
waiting. He had no idea of the respect and honour in which he 
was held. "They have a funny way of showing it," he said. "If 
1900] 153 

The Whistler Journal 

ever anything particularly offensive reaches me, well, you know, 
it comes from America. If anything goes the rounds of the papers 
here, it is taken up, intensified a hundred fold in the American 
papers. When I go to America, I shall go straight to Baltimore, 
then to West Point, then sail for here." No, she said, they would 
come down upon him from Boston, seize him by main force and 
carry him off. 

She had been to the Academy and seen the big Sargent. "It looked 
like a heap of women being poured out of a picture." Whistler 
repeated very much what he has already said of Sargent. "Well, 
you know, people tell me it is so clever. Has any one ever stopped 
in front of a Titian or a Tintoretto and called it clever? What? 
That sort of cleverness is infernal. I wouldn't, for a moment, 
have anyone think I was saying anything about Sargent, who is a 
good fellow, but as for his work it is neither better nor worse than 
that of the usual Academician." 

Then the Boers followed. Buller making them respect his rear. 
I said that should remain in history in his words. After Mrs. 
Whitman had gone, he asked me what had he said that should 
"remain"? An evening, however, not easy to record. 

Mrs. Sarah Whitman, as a painter and designer is known even 
outside Boston. She wrote to E. when she heard of Whistler's 
death, knowing what it meant to us both, and in her letter she 
spoke of her meetings with him in our flat, where he seemed hap- 
pier than anywhere else after the loss of his wife: — "I cherish a 
long gratitude for those moments you gave me with him — the 
only really happy ones I ever saw him have after Mrs. Whistler 
died. The rest was sad and full of remembrance, and I like to 
think he is at peace." The Sargent Mrs. Whitman referred to is 
one of six in the Royal Academy of 1900 — the portrait group of the 
three sisters, Lady Elcho, Mrs. Adeane and Mrs. Tennant. 

Whistler was bitter about the way he was treated in America, the 
more so because he never forgot that he was an American, ready 
as his countrymen were to forget it. He railed at the "cursed 
Yankees" to Mr. Lucas when he was badly hung in the Paris 
Exposition of 1867, though it was in the American Section he pre- 
ferred to show when he was decently treated. Again, he was furious 
with "these infernal American people" who are so horrid about 
154 [1900 

Whistler Painting the Portrait of His Mother 


By Walter Greaves 

According to Walter Greaves the date 1869 is on this painting in Greaves' writing. The 
painting Baltersea Bridge is shown in it behind the portrait of the Mother, though it was 
not esdiibited until 1877 — and the Mother was not shown until 1872. Besides which, at 
no time to our knowledge, did Whistler have a number of his paintings and prints on the wall. 
Noi was the table palette on an angle like a desk. And we never saw any such shaped room 

in Chelsea 

In the possession of the Rosenbach Co. 

{See page 116) 

Jo and Maud 

the taxes for, as every American artist who has lived in London 
knows, the getting of a consular certificate when work is to be 
sent home is a nuisance as horrid as Whistler called it. And he 
resented his treatment by American papers — thought it, really, 
a curious thing to notice how offensive they always were to him 
when they got the chance. But it hurt him most that Americans 
misunderstood him as persistently as "the Islanders." We are 
still often astounded at the entire misconception of him and his 
art and his standard of conduct among some people in our own 
and his country. It grows stronger every day and little men 
are belauded by little critics that they may be shoved into his 
shoes. Of the sort of thing thought and said we had an instance 
two or three years after Whistler's death and made a note of it 
at the time. 

February 15th, 1907. Dined with Mrs. Potter Palmer. She hadn't 
much to tell us about Whistler we had not heard except that Mrs. 
Farquhar (Miss Peck) never got back her portrait. Whistler 
returned the money. And the Pecks had talked about it and 
exaggerated it to themselves until now they are honestly under the 
impression that it was the most wonderful portrait he ever painted 
and that he wanted to keep it himself to show and exhibit as a 
contradiction to the reports of his falling-off, and then sell it for 
an enormous price. 

This was repeated to J. when he was giving the Scammon lectures 
in April, 1920, at Chicago, only the story had been carried so much 
further that he was assured Whistler stole the money. And J. 
had to explain that, as he knew for a fact, Whistler returned the 
money and never finished the picture. From the beginning, how- 
ever, there were the exceptions who understood. American artists 
were in sympathy, if the American public was not, and we are glad 
to remember that La Farge was one of the exceptions. When we 
were in New York in the autumn of 1908, we went on the morning of 

November 12th, igo8, with Mrs. Cadwalader Jones, to call on 
LaFarge in the old studio built by Hunt in Tenth Street. He told 
us that he never met Whistler until he went to Paris in 1895, the 
year his South Sea sketches were in the Champ-de-Mars Salon. 
Whistler was charming and two things he then said were recalled 

1900] 155 

The Whistler Journal 

by La Farge. One was, "Well, you know, when I first came to 
England I found I had to put my foot in it, and — well — I have kept 
it there ever since!" Another example of this sort was related to J. 
by Mrs. Paul Bartlett. One day, she said, he was pitching into some 
unfortunate. "Why do you go for him? He has one foot in the 
grave," said Mrs. Bartlett. "Oh! that's not the foot I want to 
get hold of," said Whistler. La Farge's other story was of Whistler 
saying "I have always had such good luck. Somebody always 
has said something that gave me the chance to say something I 
wanted to say in reply." La Farge's comment was that this, like 
many of Whistler's sayings, sounded like a witticism but was really 
sound, brute common sense. Whistler sent a picture called 
Seule ( The Coast of Brittany: Alone with the Tide) to the National 
Academy in New York and La Farge and St. Gaudens, who were 
on the Selecting Committee, at once accepted it. The Hanging 
Committee, of which they were not members, skied it, above a 
door. They were indignant, and La Farge said it was then, in 
their indignation, that they resolved upon their secession from the 
Academy, and founded the Society of American Artists. 

This is La Farge's own story. He was an artist, not an amateur 
like many people who have told other stories. Over officious 
American friends sometimes made Whistler see an offence where 
none was intended, thus adding to his irritation. It was a grief 
to us when, in the last months of his life, he was worried and 
angered most unnecessarily by Freer's report of the shocking 
indifference with which his pictures were hung in that year's 
exhibition of the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. Mr. 
Harrison Morris, who was in charge, has always assured us they 
could not have been better hung. So have Mr. Henry McCarter 
and Mr. McLure Hamilton who saw them and who explained the 
screen which was the chief offence to Freer. It was not the usual 
sort stuck up in the middle of the room but one placed at the 
end of the large gallery, making a centre, and the Whistlers on it 
formed the only group to which a panel was given. 

Sunday, July 29th, 1900. Whistler to dinner with me alone. J. 
still away. He brought Reynolds' newspaper with him, which he 
read with glee after dinner. But the chief talk was of spirits. He 
156 [1900 


Portrait of Jo 


In the possession of Mrs. Cobden Sanderson 

(See page 161) 

ft^ f 





. _.s 

•**i '• 

(See page 163) 

Jo and Maud 

told me how, in the old days, he went to Rossetti's, the White 
Girl — "the Irish girl with red hair" — with him, and they all put 
their hands on the table, and wonderful things happened. "One 
day, I and the White Girl went into her room and just the two 
alone tried the same experiment, and a cousin from the South 
talked to me and told me the most wonderful things. Again by 
holding a lacquer box, a beautiful Japanese box, one of the many 
wonderful things in the Chelsea house, between us, we had the 
same sort of manifestations. But it is a study, really, that would 
engross a man's whole lifetime, and I have my painting to engross 
me. I believe? Yes." Every argument against it was disposed of. 
"The silliness, as a rule, of the spirit's performance? They may 
seem silly now, but wasn't the beginning of some of the wonderful 
electrical contrivances we have the mere dancing of little paper 
dolls on a table? The darkness that is always necessary? Why not? 
Everyone knows, there are certain chemicals that act only in the 
darkness. Why should it not be the same with the spirits? How 
can we understand the conditions that rule them? For myself, 
I have no doubt — the very fact that man, beginning with the 
savage, has always believed in them is proof enough." And in 
his interest, he stayed talking until half past eleven. 

"The Irish girl with red hair" is Jo. He made experiments also 
with Maud: "could get only noises from sticky fingers on the 
table," was Mr. Cole's note afterwards of one of these experiments. 
The subject fascinated him. It may have been because of the 
Scotch, the McNeill, blood in him. He was evidently something 
of a medium while his brother, the Doctor, had curious warnings 
or presentiments — the Scotch second-sight — all his life, we were 
told by Mrs. Dr. Whistler who gave us two incidents. In Rich- 
mond, during the Civil War, suddenly one day he knew, though 
he did not know how, that a ship under a flag of truce was coming 
into a near port and that his mother, whom he had no reason to 
expect, was on board. On the strength of this, he got leave, started 
off for the port, and arrived just in time to meet her. Again, the 
day and hour E. W. Godwin died, he knew it, said so to his wife, 
though the actual news did not reach them until a few hours later 
when Whistler brought it. More than this once, Whistler spoke 
to us of spirits and his experiments with them. Probably nobody 

1900] 157 

The Whistler Journal 

would have been more interested than he, could he have foreseen 
that his own spirit was to communicate with the most unlikely 
mediums, was even to dictate a book, Echoes of Whistler, to Dr. 
L. C. Alexander, whom Shakespeare had already honoured as the 
medium to take down his biography by dictation, revealing among 
other facts that his grandfather was a Jew. Whistler's communica- 
tions were presented in such un-Whistler-like fashion that critics 
and public failed to see in Dr. Alexander simply the medium 
through whom Whistler was speaking. The critics cannot be 
blamed. We would never have imagined the book had not been 
written by Dr. Alexander had he not told us so himself. We first 
heard of him from Clarence B. Mcllvaine, then London repre- 
sentative of Harpers. He was lunching with us to talk over our 
Life of Whistler which the Harpers wanted to publish in America: — 

September ioth, igo6. . . . He told us of a Dr. L. C. Alexander — of 
whom he seemed to know nothing except that he lived at Putney — 
who had asked them to publish a volume of essays by Whistler 
which Alexander had prepared for publication. Naturally, this 
brought up the question of copyright, and it came out that he was 
a spiritualist and that the essays were communications received 
from Whistler after his death. It was arranged that Dr. Alexander 
should see Miss Philip at the Harpers' office, and after some corre- 
spondence, the meeting came off, but Mcllvaine kept well out of 
the way. The upshot of it was that Miss Philip objected to the 
publication and Mcllvaine had not heard from Dr. Alexander since. 

We were therefore prepared when two or three weeks later Dr. 
Alexander wrote to J. An appointment was made. 

September 28th, J. to the National Liberal Club to meet Dr. 
L. C. Alexander. . . . He neither knew nor saw Whistler during 
his lifetime, but since his death Whistler had communicated to 
him thirty essays, notes, and drawings. Dr. Alexander sits down, 
a pen in his hand, and his hand writes of itself, at times draws, the 
drawings always portraits, caricatures of Whistler. He promises 
to let us see essays and drawings. He declares himself no crank. 
He founded the Royal Historical Society and the Alexander Medal, 
he is a friend of Dr. Ginsberg and many men of repute. But here 
158 [1900 

Jo and Maud 

is a fact which he does not pretend to explain. If another man 
were to come and tell him the same story he would say that man 
was mad. But there it is, and he is the first to admit it extraor- 
dinary. His impression from these communications is that 
Whistler laughed because, if he hadn't, he must have cried. 

He sent us a copy of his book when it was published. It fell flat, 
and we were not surprised. It is dull, the one thing Whistler never 
was, and we have not to this day been able to read it through. 
The drawings, which J. saw and which were not published, were 
characterless and beneath contempt, the whole thing a pathetic, 
if unconscious fake. There is not the slightest hint of Whistler's 
character in the book or the drawings. Whistler's next manifesta- 
tions reported to us were to D. S. MacLaughlan, and from him too 
we had the story direct four years later. 

March 13th, igio. MacLaughlan's wife in Nashville, Tennessee, 
where she comes from, had got mixed up with spiritualists and 
people who held seances, to which he often went with her. Once, 
when they were trying to get knocks from a table, and only one 
or two of the party knew anything of MacLaughlan, a message 
came from a mysterious spirit whom nobody could understand at 
first. Finally they asked the spirit if it was German? Italian? 
French? At French, the table fairly danced. It explained that 
it was an artist, J. Herbert, and as it spoke in French, the Mac- 
Laughlans afterwards in talking of the affair naturally gave a 
French accent to its name. It said it had a message from Whistler 
for MacLaughlan. Whistler wished MacLaughlan to go on with 
his etching, to devote himself to it. The French in which this was 
delivered was very bad indeed. Ever since they have been trying 
to find out if there was a French artist, Herbert, but without suc- 
cess. And then Joseph told MacLaughlan that J. R. Herbert, the 
English Royal Academician, who knew Whistler, had a fad of 
always talking in French which was bad, and the mystery seemed 
explained. In Florence, the MacLaughlans attended a seance, to 
which Whistler's own spirit came and told MacLaughlan that he 
must go on with his etching, and, after other spirits had spoken, 
announced his return by a curious knock that his spirit alone gave. 
1900] 159 

The Whistler Journal 

He said good-night and made some little compliment to Mrs. 
MacLaughlan. But this, MacLaughlan admitted, might be sug- 
gestion. They had been reading the Life and had been struck by 
what we say in it about Whistler's charm of manner to women, 
and also about his unmistakable knock at the front door. What- 
ever the explanation, the story was one of the "amazing" things 
Whistler would have loved. 

MacLaughlan's experiences fired us with a desire to repeat them. 
The Sauters were as excited, and a seance was arranged at their 
house of which E. made this note. 

March Jist, igio. Mrs. Sauter had quite a crowd: Sauter and 
herself, ourselves, the MacLaughlans, the Withers, the Dulacs, 
Mrs. Craies, Miss Hullah, Mr. Kendall. The seance was held in 
the studio, round a large mahogany table on casters, lights out 
and silence. There was nothing for some time. Then the table 
trembled, moved about, raised itself on two legs, pushed us out 
of our chairs. At last it rapped, but in answer to no letter of the 
alphabet except W., when, however, excepting once or twice, it 
rapped vigorously. Occasionally it rapped yes or no to a question: 
No, it did not want to give a message to anybody. No, it did not 
want music. Yes, it did want something. What? A drink. 
MacLaughlan said an impish power was about, but a strong one. 
It was asked whether its name was William, Wilfred or Winifred, 
Sauter asked it in German whether it spoke Italian and Mrs. 
Sauter in Italian whether it spoke German, but no answer. The 
fire began to go out. The studio got cold. Sauter, Joseph, Withers 
and Dulac went downstairs. After that, no more "manifesta- 
tions" except trembling and vibration, and at last everybody de- 
cided too to go down and "get a drink" with the spirit. As we 
were going, Mrs. Sauter suddenly regretted that nobody had 
thought of asking it if it was Whistler. And then we got down 
stairs to be told by J. that after the first tremblings and pushings, 
which he fancied came from one or another of the party, he decided 
to see whether this was so, or whether a power stronger than he was 
at work, and the rest of the manifestations came from his long legs! 
I 60 [1900 

Portrait of Jo 


Jo and Maud 

General dismay and disappointment. But for all that, experiments 
were tried with planchette. MacLaughlan, at a table by himself, 
with a clean sheet of paper before him, held a pencil in his hand 
making it passive for the "power" to write with. A message came: 
"Whistler is among you this evening. He wants your friends to try 
again." Of course we all, excepting Joseph and Sauter, hurried back 
to seethe thing through. The table could not be induced to do any- 
thing but tremble. And we went home as unbelieving as we came. 

Whistler had not spoken to us of the White Girl before this talk of 
spirits and his experiments with her, though already references to 
her and to Maud occur in more than one of our notes. It was 
not that he objected to talking of either. He often did, and of 
Tillie, and Gussie Jones who was Sandys' "little girl," and the 
other models who posed for him. It was simply because since 
The Journal was begun nothing as yet in the talk had recalled them. 
Jo — Joanna Heffernan — drifted into his studio and his life shortly 
after he settled in London, in the late Fifties or early Sixties. She 
was the daughter of an Irishman, Patrick Heffernan, described 
to us as a sort of Captain Costigan, "a teacher of polite chirog- 
raphy," who used to speak of Whistler as "me son-in-law." Her 
beauty was great, her gold-red hair a marvel. And she was not 
only beautiful. She was intelligent, she was sympathetic. She 
gave W T histler the constant companionship he could not do without, 
for he was more than most men dependent upon the presence and 
sympathy of women. Her beauty lives in The White Girl, The 
Little White Girl, the Note Blanche that belonged to Mrs. Walter 
Sickert and was at Knoedler's the last time we saw it. She is one 
of the two figures in the Symphony in White No. Ill and In the 
Studio, she reappears in the Japanese subjects and the almost 
unknown Six Projects which the public will soon be able to see in 
the Freer Collection, Washington. If the paintings were to perish, 
her loveliness would survive in two of the finest of Whistler's 
prints, the dry-points Jo and Weary. Her devotion kept her at 
his side in the studio and often took her with him on his little 
journeys from London. She was his companion in the old inn by 
the riverside where he stayed in 1859 or i860 and painted Wapping, 
in it grouping her with Legros and a man said by Walter Greaves 
to be one of his father's boatmen, though Whistler had not then 
moved into his first Lindsey Row house and did not know the 
Greaves — and why should they have sent their man to Wapping? 

1900] 161 


The Whistler Journal 

This was the inn where the Englishmen and Greeks who had been 
Whistler's fellow students in Paris sometimes came to see and dine 
with him, and many were the stories told of Whistler there, none 
he liked better than the tale of the maid of all work who, when he 
asked her what she had for breakfast, said "Bloaters." "What 
are bloaters?" Whistler, still new to London, asked. "Why, 
'errings, you bloomin' green'orn!" 

Jo was again with Whistler in Brittany in the summer of 1861, 
and the following winter in Paris when he had his studio in the 
Boulevard des Batignolles. Drouet remembered his pride in her 
beautiful hair and the way he drew it down over her shoulders to 
show to Courbet, who painted her as La Belle Irlandaise — the 
picture called, we cannot say why, The Fair Dutch-woman in John 
C. Vandyke's Modern French Masters. As La Belle Jo it was 
exhibited at the International Society's Exhibition of Fair Women 
in 1910, and when the printer of the Catalogue changed this title 
to La Belle Io, the critics were prompt to accuse Whistler of bor- 
rowing even The White GirVs hair from Courbet, as a year later 
they proved him indebted to Greaves for his nocturnes. J. had 
to explain that La Belle Io was only La Belle Jo, Whistler's well- 
known model, and that whatever borrowing may have been done 
was by Courbet. The next summer, 1862, Jo and Whistler were 
together in the Pyrenees, stopping at Guethary and Biarritz where 
he painted The Blue Wave. He had been ordered to the Pyrenees 
for his health but his concern was for Jo, full of coughs, requiring 
the mild air of the South. Their plan was to go on to Madrid, to 
Velazquez, but that journey never came off, then or later, many 
as have been the false statements to the contrary. The autumn 
of 1865 saw them both at Trouville with Courbet, Whistler paint- 
ing Courbet on the Shore, and Jo posing to Courbet for Les 
Irlandaises and studies of Bathers, her hair a glorious note of 
colour in them all. 

Jo shared not only the days of work in the studio and the journeys 
for work in the summer. She shared Whistler's troubles, she made 
them hers. She was first of all his model, but she was also his 
agent, his messenger, his go-between when his money difficulties 
grew pressing, as they did from the beginning. She was often seen 
in Bond Street, known there as Mrs. Abbott, the name she gave 
herself. To art dealers friendly to Whistler, she brought sometimes 
her own work to sell, for she drew and painted a little. Oftener 
she brought Whistler's and, if the crisis was acute, would accept 
as many shillings as at other times he was paid pounds. We have 
seen in one dealer's house drawings bought in these emergencies 

162 [1900 




I > 

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Formerly in the possession of S. P. Avery 



From Arrangement in White and 

Black No. i, afterwards called 


Jo and Maud 

from Jo. If a water-colour, or print, or drawing of too great im- 
portance slipped into Jo's package, a line would follow the next day 
from Whistler — "you know, an inadvertence and of course to be 
returned." And it was returned, for there were London dealers 
always who appreciated Whistler and showed him the considera- 
tion which was his due. Nor were these the only troubles. We 
have never heard, except from Walter Greaves and his sister, that 
Jo had a son, but we have heard from many that she adopted 
Whistler's son John, whom Whistler called "an infidelity to Jo." 
She watched over him, brought him up as carefully as if she had 
been his mother, and Whistler, who had gone to see him as a child, 
was glad to have his support as a man. For a while the son was 
Whistler's secretary, he took part in some of the historic events 
of Whistler's crowded life. Pellegrini, who lived across the street 
from the White House, standing at his window one night, saw 
Whistler come out with John, a ladder, a candle, paint and brushes, 
and write the famous inscription on the lintel of the door. During 
the exciting days of the British Artists, John attended to much of 
its important business. Dr. and Mrs. Whistler knew and liked 
him and he was often at their house in Wimpole Street. Mrs. 
Tom Whistler, when she came to see us with Mrs. Dr. Whistler, said: 

Thursday, March 2d, ign. She had just seen Whistler's son, they 
were staying for a little while in London and he came and dined 
with them. They found him "charming, a thorough Whistler, 
very like his father in appearance, only taller and with a better 
nose, extremely amusing and intelligent, and he stayed talking to 
Mr. Whistler until after midnight." 

Also, he inherited the Whistler genius for engineering and made a 
good position for himself. The misfortune is that he has not 
inherited the Wliistler name. People who knew them both say Jo 
and the son were at Whistler's funeral, her last tribute to the man 
who made her famous for all time. She is immortal because of the 
inspiration she was to him in his art. But her love helped him 
through dark moments as well as light, and was an inspiration in 
his life. 

In the Seventies, Whistler's work shows a new model — a model 
with red hair, but not Jo. This new model was Maud — Maud 
Franklin who stood for The Fur Jacket, UAmericaine, Effie Deans, 
for many etchings, lithographs and water-colours, none more 
beautiful than a water-colour of her in bed reading which belonged 
1900J !6 3 

The Whistler Journal 

to Mr. George A. Lucas. He showed it to E. when she saw him 
in Paris, saying "this for the lover of Whistler is perfect." It 
has vanished from the Lucas collection now in Baltimore. She 
was not in the usual sense a beautiful woman — "not pretty, with 
prominent teeth, a real British type," was John Alexander's im- 
pression. But in paintings and prints her figure is slim and lithe 
and graceful, she had the grande dame air, dame du monde, accord- 
ing to M. Duret, and the colour, the splendour of her hair was like 
Jo's. Also like Jo's were her unusual intelligence, her rare power 
of sympathy and devotion, and Whistler's need of both was never 
so urgent. His fortunes were crumbling, he was building the White 
House and getting deeper and deeper into debt over it, he was 
plagued by the coming Ruskin trial, he was steering straight for 
the bankruptcy court and he knew it. She stuck to him through 
these evil days, not only posing for him, but lightening his burden 
of work and debt when she could, printing with him — for, in this 
too like Jo, she was something of an artist; writing his letters for 
him when "the show was so frightfully afire" that he had not 
time to write himself; getting entangled with writs and bailiffs; 
facing the irrepressible Nightingale, builder of the White House, 
whose name crops up in the bankruptcy papers, now in our pos- 
session, until we marvel that he alone was not the end of Whistler; 
dragged into the intricate money affairs with Howell, her name 
mentioned more than once in his journal and accounts. She was 
even involved in the intrigue from which Whistler's life was never 
free, and in Whistler's letters to Mr. Lucas now in the Maryland 
Institute, the world can read his elaborate arrangements for letters 
addressed to Miss Maud Franklin, enclosed in his and sent to Paris, 
to be posted back from that town to the White House — why no 
one alive to-day can tell. Whistler, bankrupt, left London for 
Venice; in a month Maud joined him. He was poorer than ever, 
so poor he was living on "cats' meat and cheese parings," he used 
to tell the artists there. But Maud fought his poverty with him, 
cooked for him, kept things in order for him, posed for him, posed 
for others. Even one day, Oliver Grover told J., when Whistler 
was biting a plate on top of his bureau in which were his shirts 
and the acid began to run off, instead of pulling the shirts out of 
the drawers or mopping up the acid, he stood perfectly still, 
shouting "Maud! Maud!" As she did not come, Grover had to 
rescue the contents of the bureau, while the acid ran to the floor 
and water had to be poured on that. Only love could have kept 
Maud with Whistler through these troubled days when with love 
alone could Whistler repay her. John Alexander said: 

164 [1900 



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— .*"■!* . _»- 








By Joseph Pennell 
Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

Jo and Maud 

November 6th, igo8. "Her devotion was wonderful and made 
Whistler's later conduct to her unpardonable. That was one of 
the things those who loved him just had to forget, and they could 
for they understood. To those who do not understand, of course 
one does not even speak of the necessity of forgetting." 

Perhaps because of this devotion, this daily life of self-sacrifice, 
the rumour went about of their marriage, the ceremony performed 
in a Venetian church. But it was only a rumour. It is certain 
that Whistler, who introduced her to artists and let her preside 
at the Venetian versions of his Chelsea breakfasts, did not take 
her with him to the Bronsons or the Curtises. When we were 
writing the Life, the American Consul in Venice looked up city 
archives and church records, but nothing was to be found. 
These were the years when Whistler said he had no private life 
and Maud shared in the publicity. Back in London, they lived 
together. First in Alderney Street where, Miss Chambers told us, 
it was whispered at one moment that her figure looked rather queer 
and she went to Paris, or so she explained to friends, and stayed 
away two months. From others, we have heard of a daughter 
with her mother's wonderful hair. This daughter and John are 
Whistler's only children of whom we have a positive record, though 
from Mr. Percy Thomas, during a visit he paid us on October 4th, 
iqo6, we heard of four, a number unconfirmed by any one else. 
On her return, Whistler and Maud moved to the "Pink Palace" 
in Fulham, then to The Vale, Chelsea. Whistler, though he sold 
his etchings, could not sell his pictures, and was still miserably 
poor. Maud did everything for him, as in Venice, M. Duret says 
and he never went to share with them the dinner Maud cooked 
without a bottle of wine and some fruit or pastry in his pockets. 
All this while Maud called herself Mrs. Whistler, and was known as 
Mrs. Whistler to Chelsea tradesmen and cabmen. Mrs. Whistler 
was engraved on her cards, Maud Whistler was signed to her letters: 
two with this signature were published by Otto Bacher in his book 
about Whistler in 1908, the book suppressed by Whistler's execu- 
trix, though not because of Maud's letters. Some of Whistler's 
old friends say that he introduced her and spoke of her to them as 
Mrs. Whistler; others, that Madame was his name for her, though 
he might occasionally refer to her as "my pupil." She was seen 
in many places with him, paid week-end visits with him, was promi- 
nent at British Artists' functions with him, where M. Duret has 
told us that he, as foreigner and garcon, was ready to give her his 

1900] 165 

The Whistler Journal 

arm if the respectable native hesitated. Always a few people 
accepted her, though the difficulty came after Whistler married. 
A friend was quoted to us as saying she could know one but not 
two Mrs. Whistlers. The situation was of a kind not likely to be 
ignored by gossip, and gossip made the most of it, as of everything 
connected with Whistler. It was an impossible state of affairs 
for them both. If the few accepted Maud, the many did not. 
Whistler loved society, and to most houses to which he was invited, 
Maud did not go. On the other hand, in the houses to which she 
did go she was often an embarrassment. She would stay hours, 
Miss Chambers explained, and if people came in, there was no 
knowing by what name to introduce her. Then Whistler would 
turn up and fetch her away and it was uncomfortable for every- 
body. Both had high tempers. Gossip rejoiced in tales of violent 
scenes in the "Pink Palace." Details are in Walter Greaves' talk 
with J. But it is useless to revive this unpleasantness of the past. 
All who knew them must have foreseen the end. 
Whistler tired of so intolerable a life. Besides, his friendship with 
Mrs. Godwin was strengthening. He had known her before he 
went to Venice. Godwin was his friend, the architect of the White 
House, the first to praise his Venetian work and his decorative 
scheme for its exhibition, which was a joke to the average critic. 
Godwin died in 1886. Mrs. Dr. Whistler told us {October 1st, igo6) 
that he was buried in a corner of a field somewhere down in the 
country and Mrs. Godwin, Lady Archibald Campbell and Whistler 
had gone with the coffin, in some sort of an open cart, and they 
had covered up the coffin and made quite a picnic of it — perhaps 
what all funerals ought to be made if taken in the right way. Mrs. 
Godwin lived in Chelsea after her husband's death, and gradually 
came more and more often to the studio. Lady Colin Campbell, 
then sitting — or rather standing — for her portrait, was inclined to 
resent the daily interruption, Mrs. Godwin's arrival being the signal 
for work to stop. She chaffed Whistler about "the little widdie," 
but chaff could not reconcile her to the loss of her portrait which 
was never finished and disappeared after it was exhibited at the 
British Artists — destroyed by Whistler, Miss Philip informed her. 
Maud had not only a high temper, but the jealousy that goes with 
it. Her resentment had a more serious reason, than Lady Colin's, 
and the position grew strained beyond endurance. The crisis came 
with the exhibition of the British Artists in 1887. William Stott 
of Oldham showed a Venus with red hair which gossip declared 
was Maud's. Her portrait by Whistler — the portrait in bonnet 
and furs owned by Mrs. Walter Sickert and by her returned to 

166 [1900 

(See page i6j) 



By W. E. Gray 



(See page 179) 



Freer Collection, National Museum, Washington 

(See paee 180) 

Whistler's America of Early Days 

Whistler — was in another room: "the lady in her right clothing," 
the critics wrote. There was excitement, talk, and Whistler's 
indignation was natural, whether or no he believed the scandal. 
A little later Maud went to stay with the Stotts. While she was 
away, he left the house in The Vale, never to return. A tie so 
deliberately broken could not be mended. In 1888 Whistler mar- 
ried Airs. Godwin. Mrs. Jopling-Rowe, who went with Mrs. 
Godwin to the church, thought Whistler was uneasy during the 
ceremony, he looked from side to side as if in fear that Maud 
might be there. 

Maud did not accept the inevitable by amiably effacing herself. 
When the Whistlers took their apartment in the Rue du Bac, she 
arrived in Paris and rented an apartment in the neighborhood. 
She did not drop the Mrs. Whistler from her cards. It was not 
pleasant for Whistler. But then, it was not pleasant for her. She 
was poor and alone. She returned to her profession, trying through 
M. Duret, to pose, among others, to Miss Mary Cassatt. In the 
end, she married a rich South American. When we were writing 
the Life, E. called on her. The husband had died, she was a 
wealthy widow with her motor, her town house not far from 
l'Etoile, her country house. She was not home the day of E.'s 
visit, nor the next day when she was expected and E. had said she 
would return. Madame found the country in springtime too en- 
chanting and was prolonging her stay, the bonne regretted, and 
all the time E. suspected that Madame was peeping through the 
blinds. Afterwards Maud wrote. She preferred to say nothing 
of the past. We cannot blame her. She had loved much, she had 
suffered much. It is something that her last years are quiet and 
untroubled. But her love and her suffering were for a great man, 
a genius, and therefore cannot be forgotten. She will live forever 
with Rembrandt's Hendrickje and Leonardo's Monna Lisa. 


Sunday, August 4th, igoo. Whistler came in the morning to see 
J. who got back from Scotland yesterday. He was worried, he 
looked tired and bothered. "Well, you know, Mrs. and Miss 
Philip have taken a house or part of a house on the seashore near 
Dublin and I suppose I ought to start to-morrow. And Elwell 
1900] 167 

The Whistler Journal 

wants me to go to a little place near Middleburg in Holland, and 
that seems nice and I would like it, but I am afraid it is not on the 
way to Ireland. Matters with Abram have come to a crisis. Abram 
said the last two drawings were printed with the text, and that 
makes the difference, and he suggested ten pounds a piece and I 
thought perhaps the whole thing might just as well be settled." 
He came back to dinner in the evening. The Fisher Unwins were 
here. I was talking to Fisher and did not hear the beginning, but 
something started Whistler on the Eden question, and he told the 
story he had told me before of the sale at Christie's, and that led 
him back to the whole business of the valentine — and how he 
deliberately deposited the cheque, so the truth should be known, 
and the Baronet should not have the chance to go around, shaking 
his head, and saying "some little unpleasantness about money, 
you know." The Baronet won the first case, but when it came 
to the appeal and the Cour de Cassation, when the circumstances 
were understood, and the judge realized what an espece d'amateur, 
speculateur and collectioneur, he was, why, then, there was no 
escape for him. 

Sargent, again, was the subject. "Really," Whistler said, "his 
painting seems almost like the work of a bad boy, and I do not 
know whether he ought not to be taken out and whipped for it." 
I did not hear half the talk, but there was a wild argument with 
Mrs. Unwin about the negroes. "They never had had a chance," 
she declared. "Chance! Why there they all were starting out 
alike, white, black, brown, yellow and red men — what better chance 
could they have? What?" After the Unwins had gone, he said 
again as he did after Mrs. Whitman had gone home a week ago, 
that he ought not to talk about Sargent. "I like Sargent, and I 
am afraid if these things are repeated, people will get the idea 
that I am ill-natured and that is absurd. I may be wicked, but — 
what? — never ill-natured!" 

The subject of payment for his work reproduced in the papers 
often came up. Like most painters, except Royal Academicians 
and French professors, Whistler for many years — unless it was a 
question of publishing his etchings about which he was keen enough 

I 68 [1900 

Whistler's America of Early Days 

— allowed editors to use his work for nothing, he even made draw- 
ings of his pictures for them and charged no more. It was not 
until J. pointed out that he was throwing a fortune away when he 
might have been making one, with Alma-Tadema and Holman 
Hunt and Frith who grew rich on the prints after their pictures, 
that he demanded to be paid for his. But, alas! in most cases, as 
in the case of the Mother, the most popular picture of modern 
times, he had parted with the copyright, and from the endless 
reproductions published in all sorts of forms and all over the world, 
he never received a cent and was never offered one by the print 
publishers who owed so much to him. The royalties received by 
the publishers made their fortunes and would have made his. 
Josey's mezzotints, arranged for by Howell with the Greaves, were 
the exceptions. But by the time of which we write, he had 
begun to understand the value of royalties and fees for rights 
of reproduction. 

Sunday, August 5th. J. had promised to go to Whistler's studio 
to-day, but did not feel up to it and I went to explain. I found Elwell 
sitting for his portrait, and tea on the table. "We must have tea 
at once, before it gets cold," Whistler said, and he went on painting. 
About ten minutes later, he said "we must have tea at once," and 
again he painted on. And we waited a good half hour before he 
could lay down his brush, and then it was to put the canvas in a 
frame under glass, and look at it for another ten minutes. Still 
worrying about his rashness in speaking of Sargent, "People might 
misunderstand — they are so oppressed now with the conviction of 
Sargent's cleverness, and it is cleverness which has nothing to do 
with art. It is the same sort of cleverness as that of the officer who 
cuts an orange into fancy shapes after dinner. My standard is 
the Louvre. What is not worthy to go in the Louvre has nothing 
to do with art." [And the Mother is there now.] Often and often 
he would work on into the dark till he really could not see — by the 
firelight over our portraits and when one tried to stop him he 
would say there is so much to do, so little time to do it. 
Monday, August 6th. Whistler came to dinner — only half an hour 
late. He was grumbling at the cold and the rain, but, for all that was 
in unusually good form. No special news from the Boers except that 
Baden-Powell was still appearing in his usual role of the Besieged. 
1900] 169 

The Whistler Journal 

Then he read us one of Nevinson's letters from South Africa in 
The Daily Chronicle, with which he was much struck, Nevinson 
saying that it was a question of manners, and that the whole 
future relation of the two races down there would depend on the 
women — both points that specially appeal to him. 
He was full of reminiscences, again of Rossetti and Howell — the 
Owl — and the house in Chelsea. Howell, he again compared to the 
people in Gil Bias or Robinson Crusoe — he was like the illustrations 
in Gil Bias — men in top-boots and feathers and magnificently flam- 
boyant. He lied with splendour. He gave us again Rossetti's 
limerick — 

There's a Portuguee person called Howell 
Who lays on his lies with a trowel. 

"Once in a while, I would take my gaiety, my sunniness, to Ford 
Madox Brown's receptions. And there were always the most 
wonderful people — the Blinds, Swinburne, anarchists, poets, 
musicians, all kinds and sorts, and in an inner room Rossetti and 
Mrs. Morris sitting side by side, in state, being worshipped, and, 
fluttering around them, Howell with a broad red ribbon across his 
shirt front, a Portuguese decoration hereditary in his family." 
It was at the time the large fair person Rossetti painted as Lilith, 
and called The Sumptuous, presided at Rossetti's, when Swin- 
burne and Meredith and Sandys were living there, the time when 
the most wonderful birds and beasts were in Rossetti's collection: 
"the gazelle and peacock who fought, until the peacock was left 
standing desolate with its tail apart strewed upon the ground; and 
the bull — the bull of Bashan — Rossetti bought at Cremorne, 
brought home by two men, led through the hall, out into the garden 
at the back, and its rope fastened to a stake. Rossetti used to 
come and talk to it. One day the bull got so excited it pulled up 
the stake and made for Rossetti, who went running round the 
garden, tearing round and round a tree, a little fat person with 
coat tails flying, until, at last he managed to rush up the garden 
stairs and slam the door in the face of the bull. Then he called 
his man and ordered him to go and tie up the bull, and the man, 
170 [1900 

. . . 




Drawing on Wood 

(See page 306) 

Whistler's America of Early Days 

who had looked out for the rest of the menagerie, who had gone 
about the house with peacocks and other creatures under his arm, 
rescued armadilloes, captured monkeys from the tops of chimneys, 
struck when it came to tying up a Bull of Bashan on the rampage, 
and gave a month's warning. I told the story everywhere, and 
Rossetti never seemed quite to like my telling it." ' 
Then there were reminiscences of Sandys and his love affairs: "the 
Gypsy" — "The little girl." Then reminiscences of himself. "Be- 
fore I left America I painted portraits of Annie Denny, my cousin, 
and Tom Winans, and many pictures at Stonington. Then in 
Paris, when I was first studying, Captain Williams from Stoning- 
ton; Stonington Bill they called him, got me to paint his portrait, 
and then gave me a commission to copy as many pictures as I 
chose for twenty-five dollars a piece, and I copied a picture, I 
cannot remember whom it was by, of a snow scene, with a horse 
and a soldier standing by it and another in the snow at his feet; 
a second of St. Luke, with his halo and draperies; a third of a 
woman holding up a child toward a barred window and a man 
seen looking through the bars; and a fourth of an inundation. 
I have no doubt I made something very interesting out of them. 
There were very wonderful things even then, the beginning of 
harmonies and purple schemes. I suppose it must have been 
intuitive. Then for another Stonington man, I painted — copied — 
Ingres' Andromeda, chained to the rock. Probably all these arc 
still at Stonington and are shown as wonderful things by Whistler! 
But I can remember, even before I went back to America, the 
wonderful things I did. In London, once, when I was given a hot 
foot bath, I remember how I sat looking at my foot and then got 
paper and colours and set to work to make a study of it. Even 
in Russia, I was always doing that sort of thing." 
His friend Ernest died after the war. And there was another 
delightful story of him and his ingenuity in supplying himself with 
canvas and brushes and paints when he wanted to make a copy 
in the Louvre. He had finished a picture of the Marriage Feast 
at Cana on a large canvas, and he wanted to sell it. He and a 
friend started out one morning, carrying it between them very 
1900] 171 

The Whistler Journal 

jauntily to find some one to buy it. They crossed the Seine first 
and offered it for five hundred francs to all the great dealers on the 
right side. Then they offered it for two hundred and fifty to the 
little dealers on the left. Then they went back and offered it for 
one hundred and twenty-five. Then they came across and offered it 
for seventy-five. And back again for twenty-five and over again 
for ten. And they had an awful day, getting very thirsty, stopping 
with it at cafes, leaning it up against chairs or tables. Until, at 
last, crossing once more to try and get rid of it for five, on the 
Pont-des-Arts they had an idea. They lifted it. "Un" they 
said, with a great swing — "deux — trois — Flanl" and over it went 
into the water. There was a cry from the crowd, a rush to their 
side of the bridge, sergents-de-ville, boats on the river, an immense 
success and they were enchanted. 

Another story of his own work. When he made his etchings in 
Venice and gave them to the Fine Art Society, little Brown showed 
them to old Mackay at Colnaghi's. But Mackay would not have 
them: he wanted the London etchings. But, Brown said, when 
the London etchings were offered to him he had not wanted them. 
No, Mackay said, then he wanted dogs by Landseer. "It was 
when I was doing my Venice etchings that I got in the habit, 
as I worked, of blowing away the little powder raised by the 
needle ploughing through the ground to the copper, and it got 
to be such a habit that I made the same blowing sound, even 
when I was painting or drawing and there was nothing to blow. 
But I was not conscious of it. After the school was started in 
Paris, Carmen told me that, one day, after I had been painting 
something before the students and had left the studio, there was 
suddenly heard in the silence a sound of blowing from one corner. 
Then another student began to blow away imaginary things as 
he worked, and so they kept it up one after the other. Tiens, 
they said, already we have la manure, and that is much! Since 
then, I have broken myself of the habit almost altogether." 
J. asked him about Gleyre's studio, whether there was much of the 
usual tormenting of the nouveau? "No — very little. If a man 
was a decent fellow, and would sing his song and take a little chaff, 
172 [1900 



By Joseph Pennell 
Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

Whistler's America of Early Days 

he had no trouble. I only remember one performance of the kind, 
and that was when a student, who had already been there some 
time, seemed too pleased with himself, too certain he was going 
to be made massier. And one morning when I came to the studio 
late, I found them all working very hard, the unpopular one 
among them, and there at the end of the room, on the model's 
stand was an enormous catafalque, a wonderful construction, the 
unpopular one's name on it in big letters. No one said a word. 
But that killed him. He was never again seen in the place." 

Even when Whistler taught he was not taken up by the French 
Professors. One night at the American Club, after Wanamaker 
and the Professors and the Ambassador and all the lights had 
spoken, he was called on by somebody. He said he hesitated to 
follow such distinguished speakers, but he would like to say that 
in France they taught the student which end of the brush to put 
in his mouth, but in England it was all a matter of taste. "Little 
Brown" was Ernest G. Brown, first with the Fine Art Society, 
and later head of the firm of Ernest G. Brown and Phillips of the 
Leicester Galleries, Leicester Square. He died shortly before the 
war. Why everybody called him "little Brown" it would be hard 
to say, but everybody did — a term of endearment perhaps, for 
everybody liked him. He believed in Whistler from the first, and 
Whistler appreciated it. Pretty Nelly Brown who sat for one of 
Whistler's later portraits is Brown's daughter. Whistler in the Rue 
du Bac had not yet broken himself of the habit of blowing. Mrs. 
Whistler used to say that when he blew,4t meant he was satisfied. 

Thursday, August Q. Blaikie came to dinner, and also Whistler, 
bringing with him Elwell, the American artist whose portrait he is 
painting. First talk of Scotland, Whistler, as a McNeill of Barra, 
claiming Blaikie as a countryman, not a drop or touch of Sassenach 
in him, he said. Whistler is an Irish name, and the McNeill, of 
course, means Barra. Blaikie told the story of the time so many of 
the Barra Islanders emigrated to America. The McNeill did not like 
it at all, and he came down to the harbour to remonstrate with one 
of the clan. But the man was obstinate, until finally the McNeill 
in a fury struck him and knocked him down. Then, when the man 
got up, he was ashamed and told him he must strike him in return. 
1900J 173 

The Whistler Journal 

"What, strike my chief?" the man said, "never, and, what is 
more I'll blow out the brains of anyone else who tries to." And 
yet he went away all the same, but it shows the feeling there is up 
there for the chief — a feeling which no one could appreciate better 
than Whistler. 

Then it was Edinburgh and the Castle, and the wonder of it one 
day when Blaikie took St. Gaudens there. It was Sunday, and they 
got in only by permission of the Governor, and there was no one 
else from outside, and the wonder of it in a thick mist, the figures 
of the Highlanders in their long overcoats, looming up through it 
like giants, and, everywhere, mystery when you leaned over the 
parapet and looked apparently into space. "That is just the sort 
of thing, the mystery of it all, that I have been trying to show 
people for years," Whistler said. "But people do not want it. 
What they like, is when the east wind blows and everything is 
sharp and hard and awful — they like the sort of a day when, if 
you look across the river, you can count the wires in the canary 
bird's cage on the other side. They talk about the blue skies of 
Italy; the skies of Italy are not blue, they are black. You do not 
see blue skies except in Holland, or here, or countries where you 
get great white clouds, and then the spaces between are blue." 
He, later, told the story of Carlyle and the painting of the portrait 
more completely than before, that is to us. "There were ladies in 
Chelsea — well — Madame Venturi, who was determined that I 
should paint it. I used to go often to Madame Venturi's. I met 
Mazzini there, and Mazzini was most charming. Madame Venturi 
often visited me, and one day she brought Carlyle. The Mother 
was there, and Carlyle saw it and seemed to feel in it a certain 
fitness of things as Madame Venturi meant he should. He liked 
the simplicity of it, the old lady sitting with her hands in her lap, 
and he said he would be painted. And he came one morning soon, 
and he sat down, and I had the canvas ready, and my brushes and 
palette, and Carlyle said, And now, mon, fire away! That wasn't 
my idea of how work should be done, and Carlyle realized it for 
he added, If ye're fighting battles or painting pictures, the only 
thing to do is to fire away. One day he told me of others who had 
174 [1900 



Glasgow Art Gallery 




Owned by Alan S. Cole, C. B. 

Whistler's America of Early Days 

painted his portrait. There was Mr. Watts, a mon of note. And 
I went to his studio, and there was much meestification, and screens 
were drawn round the easel, and curtains were drawn, and I was 
not allowed to see anything. And then at last, the screens were 
put aside, and there I was. And I looked. Mr. Watts, a great 
mon, he said to me, How do you like it? And I turned to Mr. 
Watts, and I said, Mon, I would have ye know, I am in the 
hobit of wuring clean lunen. But Carlyle agreed that I had given 
him clean linen and he liked the portrait — he told people afterward 
that he had been there, talking and talking, and that I had just 
gone on with my work, and had paid no attention to him whatever. 
Then I was ill, and Carlyle sent me one of the machines for making 
soda-water that he probably had used when he was ill himself; 
and then, afterwards I called and spent an evening with him, and 
our relations were always charming. Carlyle was really a very 
delightful person about whom delightful things were told. Ailing- 
ham, at one time, was by way of being his Boswell and was always 
at his heels. They were walking in the Embankment Gardens, 
Chelsea, when Carlyle stopped suddenly: Have a care mon, have 
a care, for ye have a tur-r-rable faculty for developing into a bore. 
Carlyle had been reading about Michael Angelo and had had 
some idea of writing his life or an essay about him. But it was 
Michael Angelo, the engineer, who interested him. Another day, 
walking with Allingham, they passed South Kensington Museum. 
You had better go in, Allingham said. Why, mon, only fools go in 
there. Allingham explained that there was sculpture by Michael 
Angelo, and Carlyle should know something of his art before writing 
his life. No, Carlyle said, we need only glance at that! 
A story of Blaikie's was interesting too. The students in Edin- 
burgh elected Carlyle to the Rectorship, and he was pleased enough 
at the election. But he had to make a speech afterwards, and 
on the day of the ceremonies, he arrived in his official robes, 
trembling all over. First he threw off the gown and cap, but you 
could still see his hands tremble, and he could scarcely control 
his voice. But once he had started, he dropped his notes, and 
forgot himself entirely in what he had to say. 
1900] I?s 

The Whistler Journal, 

Then the talk drifted to the British Artists, and Whistler told 
again the story of the Prince of Wales, and of their coming to ask 
him to join the Society. Then he went on with the story of his 
relations to the Society. "There was the Jubilee. Well, you know, 
I found that the Academy and the Institute, and the rest of them 
were preparing addresses to the Queen, and so I went to work too, 
and I prepared a most wonderful address. Instead of the illumi- 
nated performances for such occasions, I took a dozen sheets of 
my old Dutch paper. I had them bound by Zaensdorf. Amazing! 
First came this beautiful binding in yellow morocco, and the in- 
scription to Her Majesty, every word just in the right place, most 
wonderful. You opened it, and on the first page you found a 
beautiful little drawing of the royal arms that I made myself; the 
second page, an etching of Windsor, as though, 'here's where you 
live.' On the third page, the address began. I made decorations 
all round the text in water-colour — at the top, the towers of Wind- 
sor, down one side, a great battleship, plunging through the waves, 
and below the sun that never sets on the British Empire — What? 
The following pages were not decorated, just the most wonderful 
address, explaining the age and dignity of the Society, its devotion 
to Her Glorious, Gracious Majesty, and suggesting the honour it 
would be if this could be recognized by a title that would show the 
Society to belong especially to Her. Then the last page. Then 
you turned, and there was a little etching of my house at Chelsea — 
'And now here's where I live!' And then you closed it, and on the 
back of the cover was the Butterfly. This was all done and was 
well on its way, and not a word was said to the Society, when the 
Committee wrote and asked me if I would come to a meeting as 
they wished to consult me. It was about an address to Her 
Majesty — all the other Societies were sending them and they 
thought they should too. I asked what they proposed spending, 
and they were aghast when I suggested that the guinea they 
mentioned might not meet a twentieth of the cost. But, you know, 
all the time my beautiful address was on its way to Windsor, and, 
finally came the Queen's acknowledgment and Her command that 
the Society should be called Royal. Well, I carried this to a meet- 
ing, and it was stormy. One member got up and protested against 
176 [1900 

*• *«£■ Jf 



Designed for the British Artists 


Z&o *&r*e 

moss exceLLG^ 

^^lic limuitlc am> ihittful jUrmorwluf tltc 
uutermtjurfl iulirltalf itf « Surictu a^yuur 
auO patrons aufl<31cU uu\UiiT^itf UtcHrta 
aurt-Brtutfa uf ymtr jlt&^trr'a : 





From the British Artists. Royal Collection, Windsor 




Formerly in the possession of G. R. Halkett 

(See page 305) 

Whistler's America of Early Days 

one thing or another and declared his intention of resigning. You 
had better make a note of it, Mr. Secretary, I said. And then I 
got up with great solemnity and I announced the honour conferred 
upon them by Her Gracious Majesty. They jumped up and rushed 
towards me with outstretched hands. But I waved them all back, 
and continued with the ceremonial to which they objected. For 
the ceremonial was one of their grievances. They were accustomed 
to meet in shirt-sleeves, free-and-easy fashion, which I would not 
stand. Nor would I consent to what was the rule and tradition 
of the Society. I would not, when I spoke, step down from the 
chair and stand up in the body of the meeting, but remained always 
where I was. But, the meeting over, I sent for champagne. Alto- 
gether when it came to the time of re-electing the President, usually 
as mere a form as at the Academy, they took advantage of it to 
get rid of me. Now, at last! I told them, you must be satisfied. 
You can no longer say you have the right man in the wrong place." 
Then wild talk of Burns, Elwell falling of a sudden upon Blaikie 
for Scotland's ill treatment of Burns during his lifetime, though 
Blaikie had said earlier in the evening that he might abuse things 
Scotch sometimes himself, but he could never allow anyone else 
to do it. Whistler, who tried to smooth things down for everybody, 
said, "after all, Burns was not Scotch: in the turning around of the 
world, he, the Genius, just happened to be born there." Then talk 
of the Davenport Brothers and of spirits, and again he described 
their seances, and the inexplicable things that were done, which, 
of course, were merely travestied in the later performances of 
Maskelyne and Cook and people of that kind. But one other thing 
about Burns. "The difference between the Scotch people's treat- 
ment of Burns and of Crockett, is that they slighted Burns during 
his lifetime and have been busy raising monuments ever since; 
but they read Crockett during his lifetime and will never raise a 
single monument to him after his death." And more talk and talk 
until one o'clock in the morning — Blaikie lingered — it was not 
often, he said, you heard such brilliant conversation. 

Blaikie is Walter B. Blaikie, the head of Constables, the Edinburgh 
printers, and the friend of Henley, Stevenson, and all of us. Curi- 
1900] 177 


The Whistler Journal 

ously enough, whether or no something in the evening rankled 
afterwards in memory, that was the last time we ever saw Blaikie. 
Two absurd incidents in connection with the Carlyle portrait we 
take from later pages of The Journal, the first in a note dated 

May 4th, igog. William De Morgan told Kerr-Lawson that, in 
Chelsea in the old days, they looked upon the portrait as a joke. 
He knew Carlyle, often walked with him in Chelsea; he was a lean, 
spare man with thin, clean-shaven face, not at all like Whistler's 
Carlyle. Lawson reminded him of Boehm's statue in the Chelsea 
Embankment Gardens, which he surely passed almost daily while 
in London: the face in the statue is the same as the face in Whistler's 
painting. De Morgan was astonished — he had never noticed it! 
But what was De Morgan save a pompous old bore, who wrote 
tiresome books that delight the middle classes. He described 
English life, and his power of observation was so small that he 
did not know what the man whose acquaintance he claimed looked 
like, and could not see a life-size statue directly in front of him. 

The other incident comes from Mr. F. Ernest Jackson: — 

Friday, February 14th, igo8. Some few years ago, just back from 
studying in Paris, with less than he liked to do, he spent a good 
deal of time wandering about London. One late summer afternoon 
he was sitting on a bench in Hyde Park near the Marble Arch, 
watching the people pass, and an old man, not unlike Carlyle, 
came and sat on the same bench. Many bicycles were passing 
along Park Lane, and the old man made some opening remark 
about the wonderful inventions of the age, and Jackson answered 
something about the beauty that counted for more and was sacri- 
ficed to them. The old man asked him if he was an artist and he 
said he was. Then the old man spoke of Whistler, who had been 
his neighbour in Wellington Square (where to our knowledge 
Whistler never lived), and there the Carlyle was painted and there 
he sat for it sometimes. Then he went on to say that the Carlyle 
was not painted by Whistler, but by somebody else and there had 
been a bet that, if shown as a Whistler, nobody would know the dif- 
ference, which was what happened and the truth has not been told 
178 [1900 

' l»» • i>*6 


" Onjr }t„ • iw / ;,. sTfpamtedy up * unjg man to /*< Future < Hi W.J me r/ traj vtty f.rU fartti**krty hti man future. I a*r. snttiffus 
t. r t vj.-, ;* ,-t.r ■ / \at o/Jn I i c o wit n~* c> Iki L-u: Skaut or Jem Smith i )Q$ tt '.. , .-r u - \ju*t c&ijnntty. BODCEJC* 



By Bernard Partridge. Judy, showing Portraits of Lady Colin Campbell, destroyed, top left, 

and Mrs. Whistler, top right 

(See page 176) 

Whistler's America of Early Days 

to this day. An extraordinary story, though we can see how it grew 
out of old Greaves sitting for Carlyle's coat and the two Greaves 
helping Whistler in the studio. One can see too how the history 
made to-day prepares the way for the attributions of to-morrow. 

Whistler was right about Crockett. He is already forgotten, as 
are all the others of the once popular Kail-Yard. Ian Maclaren 
has gone. Barrie will go. Whistler's Crockett is one of the por- 
traits that have vanished, though Whistler was pleased with it. 
When he asked E. to the studio to see it, he said that Crockett was 
delighted with it and he rather liked it himself. 

Friday, August 10th, iqoo. An early visit from Whistler, with time- 
tables. He thinks of going to Middleburg with Elwell, he thinks 
of going to Ireland. He may start for either place, but cannot 
decide. "Well, you know, I wish there was some one just to take 
hold of me and tell me what to do and get me ready to do it." 

Friday, August ijth. Again quite an early visit from Whistler; the 
announcement of his return from Holland, where he found Dom- 
burg a wonderful little place, just beginning to be known but not 
yet exploited, and he recommends a visit before it is ruined. He 
feels all the better for it, he says, and he looks it. And there was 
a merchant from Dordrecht, "a little reserved at first at the table 
d'hote, but finally finding he was in safe company with me, he 
explained that I need have no fear about the Boers; the Dutch are 
financing them." 

In the evening, as he promised, Whistler came to dinner, but he 
was unmistakably drowsy as the result of travelling the night 
before, and after dinner, he went fast asleep, not even waking 
when La very came in later. 

Six summers afterwards, E. happening to be in Middleburg, in mem- 
ory of Whistler went one afternoon to Domburg. It seemed still 
unspoiled — two or three long streets lined with trees meeting over- 
head, low red-roofed cottages, a small group of hotels, high dunes pro- 
tecting the village. The sky forever cloud swept, the red roofs above 
the green, the lines of the dunes are in Whistler's water-colours. But 
how, she wondered, did he manage about the five o'clock dinner? 
1900] 179 

The Whistler Journal 

Friday, September yth. Back from Paris, and Whistler, too, back 
from Ireland. Came and dined, and the Sauters. Ireland evidently 
was not a great success — the house was on the wrong side of the 
Bay, the weather wasn't what it should be, and it was clear there 
was not, as in the case of Domburg, reason for enthusiasm. But 
Chester, on the way home, was charming — full of possibilities. 
The talk was altogether and entirely of the Boers — except once 
when he told us how, walking down Bond Street on the arm of 
little Brown, he saw Menpes. Brown was confused but Whistler 
was delighted and turned round for another look — "He's back 
from the front, then!" Whistler said to Brown. 

Though he was on the wrong side of the Bay, he managed to do a 
few charming things in Ireland. One or two later went into Can- 
field's collection. 

Saturday, September ijth. To-day Joseph home from Switzerland, 
and I from Dorsetshire, find that Whistler called last evening and 
wanted to see J.. urgently. J. went up to the studio to breakfast. 
Little Brown was there, and nothing seemed particularly urgent. 
Whistler came to dinner. His mood was retrospective. Talk, of 
course, began with the Boers. Kruger's flight, or removal to 
Laurenco Marquez led to comparisons with Jefferson Davis, and 
talk of Jefferson Davis reminded Whistler that it was through him 
he got his appointment to the Coast Survey. "It was after my 
little difference of opinion with the Professor of Chemistry at 
West Point. The Professor would not agree with me that silicon 
was a gas, but declared it was a metal, and as we could come to no 
agreement on the matter, it was suggested — all in the most cour- 
teous and correct West Point way — that perhaps I had better leave 
the Academy. Well, you know, it was not a moment for the return 
of the prodigal to his family or any slaying of fatted calves. I had 
to work and I went to Washington and called at once on Jefferson 
Davis, who was the Secretary of War, a West Point man like 
myself. He was most charming, and I — well — from my Russian 
cradle, I had an idea of things and the interview was in every way 
correct, conducted on both sides with the utmost dignity and 
180 [1900 

Whistler's America of Early Days 

elegance. I explained my unfortunate difference with the Professor 
of Chemistry, represented that the question was one of no vital 
importance, while on all really important questions, I had carried 
off more than the necessary marks. My explanation made, I 
suggested that I should be reinstated at West Point, in which case, 
as far as I was concerned, silicon should remain a metal. The 
Secretary, courteous to the end, promised to consider the matter, 
and named a day for a second interview. Before I went back to 
the Secretary, I called on the Secretary of the Navy, also a South- 
erner, James C. Dobbin of South Carolina, suggesting that I should 
have an appointment in the Navy. The Secretary objected that 
I was too old. In the confidence of youth, I suggested that age 
should be no objection. I could be entered at the Naval Academy 
and the three years at West Point could count at Annapolis. The 
Secretary was interested for he too had a sense of things. He 
regretted, with gravity, the impossibility. But something im- 
pressed him, for later he reserved one of six appointments he had 
to make in the Marines, and offered it to me. In the meantime I 
had returned to the Secretary of War who had decided that my 
wishes in the matter of West Point could not be met. West Point 
discipline had to be observed, and if one cadet were reinstated, a 
dozen others who had tumbled out after me, would have to be 
reinstated too. But if I would call on Captain Benham of the 
Coast Survey, a post might be waiting for me there. And so it 
was; Captain Benham had been my father's friend, and under him 
I became an official in the Coast Survey. I worked — yes — but 
with no great enthusiasm: I was apt to be late, I was so busy 
socially. I lived in a small room, but it was amazing how I was 
asked and went everywhere, to balls, to the Legations, to all that 
was going on. Labouchere, an Attache at the British Embassy, 
has never ceased to talk of me, so gay, and when I had not a dress 
suit, pinning up the tails of my ordinary coat and turning it into 
a dress coat for the occasion. Shocking! 

"But all the while, indeed ever since my Russian cradle, there 
had always been the thought of art, and when, at last, I told the 
family that I was going to Paris, they said nothing. There was 
1900] 181 

The Whistler Journal 

no difficulty; they just got me a ticket. I was to have three hun- 
dred and fifty dollars a year, which my hal^f brother George, who 
was one of my guardians, sent to me after that every quarter, and 
so in Paris I was quite a swell — that is in the Quarter, of course. 
It was before this, when the Doctor and I were boys in Russia, 
that my sister [half-sister] married Seymour Haden. They had 
met when my sister was staying with an aunt, one of the McNeills, 
Eliza McNeill, who married for her second husband Winstanley in 
Stanley. I remember that my father came to England specially 
to see Seymour Haden, and I was with him, and, from the first, 
disliked him. Haden patted me on the shoulder and said it was 
high time the boy was going to school. Nor do I think my father 
approved. My mother came over and joined me towards the end 
of the war. She had been with the Doctor during the war, and she 
ran the blockade, to get to England." 

The evening ended with a violent discussion about Labouchere, 
whom Whistler, liking, makes fit in to his standard and theory 
of conduct in every way. " People misjudge him about his political 
work, you know, as, for long, they misjudged me about my paint- 
ing. When I gave my Venice show at the Fine Art Society's, I 
went there one day and met Sir George and Lady Beaumont face 
to face at the door as they were coming out. Both looked very 
much bored, but they couldn't escape me. So — well — the old man 
grasped my hand and chuckled — We have just been looking at 
your things, and have been so much amused! He had an idea 
that the drawings on the walls were drolleries of some sort, though 
he could not understand why, and that it was his duty to be 
amused. And I laughed with him. I always did with people of 
that kind, so they said I was not serious, and that is very much 
the world's attitude with Labouchere." 

The story of Whistler's meeting with Captain Benham years after 
in Paris is in the Life. There was another occasion he must have 
told us about before we began our Journal, when he took the Rus- 
sian Ambassador home with him, marketing on the way, doing 
the cooking himself, and serving the Ambassador the best dinner 
he ever ate. 
182 [1900 



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Commencement of pastel 
In the possession of Mitchell Kennerley, Esq. 

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In the possession of J. P. Heseltine, Esq. 




In the possession of Alan S. Cole. C. B., and Henry Blackburne 



In the possession of Messrs. Knoedler and Co. 

Whistler's America of Early Days 

Whistler, for many years, gave undue importance to two men who 
did him great harm, though they gave him great publicity. One 
was Edmund Yates, the other was Henry Labouchere. Edmund 
Yates was supposed to be a wit and he owned and edited The 
World. Labouchere had the same reputation, and he owned and 
edited Truth. They were rivals and pretended enemies. Whistler 
saw a great deal of them at the Beefsteak Club. Edmund Yates 
published in his paper many of the most brilliant letters in The 
Gentle Art. These would be commented on in The World by Yates, 
who called himself "Atlas," and then contradicted by Henry 
Labouchere in Truth. This game of battledore — though not 
Whistler's letters — was badinage but the readers of the two papers, 
who were society people, politicians, sports and city gents, ^took 
the papers and their contents deadly seriously; that is, they took 
everything seriously except Whistler who was serious. They 
regarded him as a joke. However, he found the papers useful, 
for they gave him the only publicity he could get at that time. 
Both Yates and Labouchere understood Whistler, and their papers 
were really clever, the contents vastly different from the drivel 
and blackguardism which disgrace the American society news- 
paper columns. 

Both men also were collectors. Labouchere owned till his death 
the portrait of Connie Gilchrist Skipping — The Gold Girl — which 
is now, or what is left of it, in the Metropolitan Museum of New 
York. The year after Whistler's death, Labouchere sold the paint- 
ing and it was handed over to the care of Robert Ross, then running 
the Carfax Gallery. He showed it to E. in his house in Sheffield 
Gardens, where it hung for a while, and told her that Labouchere 
let Whistler have it back to work on it. Whistler had not touched 
the canvas. The truth is, he was always trying to get the picture 
back to destroy it, not to work on it. It was in the studio when 
he died and the executrix, Robert Ross added, was obliged to give 
it up, though reluctantly. In the poor light of an upper room 
E. could not see it well, but, as well as she could see, the painting 
seemed flat and dead, and the regret is that Whistler left it in that 
condition. The picture was a failure, and Whistler knew it. For 
long, down the back of the figure, there ran a great black line of 
paint that showed the whole thing was to have been drawn again. 
Eventually it came into the possession of Mr. Hearn who carefully 
had the black line removed, and to-day, cleaned and smugged up, 
the Connie Gilchrist reposes in the Metropolitan, the butt of 
American critics who do not know enough to say nothing. The 
Metropolitan Museum is unfortunate in having some of the most 

1900] 183 

The Whistler Journal 

unimportant and least desirable Whistlers of any collection in the 
world, when it might have had the best — the Mother, The White 
Girl, and a number of others. As it is, the Henry Irving is the one 
distinguished Whistler there. Truth and The World also printed 
so-called caricatures, mostly artless. In them Whistler appeared 
over and over, and they look as if they had been the foundation 
of more than one of the Greaves' portraits. One of Spy's may now 
be seen in the National Portrait Gallery, London. Through these 
caricatures Whistler became widely known to the British public, 
and it is thanks to The World and Truth and their illustrations that 
he came to be accepted as a joke. The shock to the British public 
was when it suddenly awoke to find he was a great artist and a 
great man — the American public has not found it out yet. Nor 
did that part of the British public of which Lord and Lady Beau- 
mont were types ever wake up. More than five years after 
Whistler's death, a month or so after the Life was published, at 
some afternoon reception, E. met Lady Dorothy Nevill who said 
she had read the book with the greatest interest because her 
friendship with Whistler dated so far back. She gushed to E. 
She had known Whistler, had gone to his breakfasts. He was a 
delightful creature, so amusing, he would show you a pair of boots 
on a canvas and you were expected to see in them a full-length 
life-size figure! And her laugh might have been the re-echo of Lord 
Beaumont's chuckle. 

Those who did not laugh were afraid. An instance is in a delightful 
story little Brown told E. of Mr. Burrell who bought The Fur 
Jacket and other Whistlers, and has long since parted with them. 

February loth, iqoq. He was most anxious to meet Whistler, little 
Brown said he would arrange it, and Whistler invited them both 
to tea in the studio. On their way, in the hansom, Burrell, a great 
big Scotchman, a champion football player or something of that 
sort, sat very still at first, then, squaring his shoulders, said with 
a great air of determination, "No matter what he says or does, 
I will not retaliate!" Brown's comment was that his idea of 
Whistler was most people's idea of J., a man with one hand holding 
a pen ready to write disagreeable things, the other thrust in his 
pocket to draw his revolver. 

To those who did not laugh, or arm for a fight, he was simply a 
mountebank. We were told by some one who heard it that after 
184 [1900 

Whistler's America of Early Days 

his death he was called a "Charlatan" by the Princess Louise, the 
one member of the Royal Family credited with an intelligent inter- 
est in art. If this was her feeling, we wonder why the Whistler 
bust by Boehm remained so long in her possession. However, she 
succeeded in getting rid of it during the war at the big war charity 
sale held at Christie's in April, 1915. 

Sunday, September 16th, igoo. Whistler dined and Agnes Repplier 
— not a successful combination. The dinner dragged until E. J. 
Sullivan happened to come in, and Whistler woke up, and, all of 
a sudden, I hardly know how, he was plunged into the midst of 
the Lake Country and a Church Congress, travelling third class 
with the clergy and their families, eating jam and strange meals 
with quantities of tea, and visiting the Rev. Mr. Green in his 
prison, shut up by his Bishop for burning candles and altogether 
the hero and important person he would never be on coming out. 
An amazing story, but what Whistler was doing in the Lakes, 
which had nothing about them but little round mountains with 
little round trees on top, and what he was doing with the clergy, 
he did not appear to know — the story was enough. Also, out of 
the talk of the evening, I have the memory of Whistler's pictur- 
esque description of the monastery adjoining his garden in the 
Rue du Bac; the music of the monks' hymns, and the mystery of it, 
heard in the twilight of summer evenings, and the glimpse of solemn 
processions through their garden on winter mornings — the beauty 
of ritual, he declared, is all with the Catholics. But the evening, 
on the whole, not one of our most successful. 

If we remember, this was one of Whistler's very sleepy evenings. 
No doubt there had been a more than usually hard day's work in 
the studio. On another evening, he probably would have responded 
to Miss Repplier as joyfully as to Mrs. Whitman. As it was, his 
story of the Lakes and the clergy was as funny as it could be, 
though, as Miss Repplier said afterwards, enchantingly funny and 
witty as it seemed to her when he told it, when she tried to tell it 
herself afterwards, she could not succeed in even suggesting the 
fun or the wit, and her friends could not understand why she had 
laughed. It was not only the story with Whistler, but the amazing 
way he told it. 
1900] 185 

The Whistler Journal 

The monastery next door at the Rue du Bac was one of missionary 
monks who are sent out to the French Colonies. They are the 
bearded priests one sometimes sees in Paris. Every afternoon in 
summer at the hour of the Angelus, or in the month of May for 
the May devotions of the Blessed Virgin, they gathered under the 
great trees which towered over the wall dividing the gardens of 
the two houses, and there sang their hymns. It was beautiful 
and impressive and, no matter who was with Whistler in his garden 
or what was the talk, every one became silent and listened. 
Whistler loved it, felt the beauty of it, and so did we all. 

Monday, September iyth. Coming home about ten, we found 
Whistler waiting, established with The Star. Partly a Boer evening, 
Brown of the Fine Art Society — little Brown — had lunched with 
us and told us stories which Whistler confirmed. Brown began 
life in the Seeleys' office. It was in the days of The Portfolio, and 
he was sent to see Whistler on some matter relating to the Billings- 
gate plate, which Whistler sold to The Portfolio. He had no idea 
he was to see a man in any way extraordinary, and he can remember 
now the vivid impression Whistler's manner and appearance made 
on him. It was in the White House. Whistler took him to the 
window and showed him the river and the view of Battersea 
beyond. Then he put his hand on Brown's shoulder and said, 
"I am afraid I am going to lose my house!" This was not long 
before the sale. In the meanwhile Brown drifted to the Fine Art 
Society's, carrying with him the deep impression made by Whistler 
and his work. The result was, the Society bought two London 
plates. Then the crash came. Whistler wanted to go to Venice, 
and they arranged with him for a series of twelve plates, to be 
done in three months, and they advanced part of the money. 
Whistler went away, time passed, no plates came, but demands for 
more money. They were used to artists who if they said three 
months, kept to it, and they began to have their doubts, while he, 
naturally, was furious at their suggestion of doubt. This, Brown 
says, was the cause of the trouble. Indignant letters passed, a 
wonderful correspondence, and all the time Whistler, who had no 
resentment against Brown, whose fault it was not, was writing 

186 [1900 

Whistler's America of Early Days 

him friendly letters which he still has. Fifteen months was the 
length of time Whistler stayed in Venice. But when he did come 
back, the etchings were a great success. Next came the pastel 
show. Nothing of the kind had been done before, the public knew 
nothing of pastels, but they made eighteen hundred pounds out 
of the show. This Brown quoted to prove that Whistler had 
never been neglected, in one sense of the word anyway. They 
wanted him to go on, to follow up the first with another exhibition 
of the kind. But he wouldn't. He would have made a fortune, 
if he had, according to Brown. 

Whistler added to this a description of his first appearance at the 
Fine Art Society's after his return. "Well, you know, I was just 
home, nobody had seen me and I drove up in a hansom. Nobody 
expected me. In one hand I held my long cane; with the other, 
I led by a ribbon a beautiful little white Pomeranian dog — it too 
had turned up quite suddenly. As I walked in, I spoke to no one, 
but putting up my glass I looked at the prints on the walls: Dear 
me! Dear me! I said. Still the same old sad work! Dear me! 
And Haden was there talking hard to Brown and laying down the 
law, and as he said Rembrandt, I said Ha! ha! and he vanished. 
And then, when I was hanging my etchings, the consternation was 
great. On the ladder, I could hear whispers below me — no one 
would be able to see the etchings. Of course, I said, that's all 
right. In an exhibition of etchings, the etchings are the last things 
people come to see. The pastel show was a source of constant 
consternation on their part, and amusement on mine. There was 
the private view, when I had my box of wonderful little Butterflies, 
which I gave only to the select few, and, naturally, everybody was 
eager to be decorated. And when the crowd was greatest, Royalty 
appeared, quite unprecedented, you know, at a private view, and 
the crowd was hustled into another room, and the Prince and 
Princess went round the gallery looking at everything, the Prince 
roaring over the catalogue. I am afraid you are very malicious, 
Mr. Whistler, the Princess said. There were, well, you know, 
differences too about money. The Society would pay nothing in 
advance. It was against their rules to pay until the end of the 
1900] 187 

The Whistler Journal 

show. So the next Saturday afternoon, I came just when the 
crowd was thickest, and everything was going beautifully, Huish 
and Brown taking people round and showing them and explaining 
the pastels, on the point of selling many, and I stood in the little 
central gallery, and I said in a loud gay voice, Well, the Show's 
over. Huish and Brown rushed up and tried to quiet me. Every- 
body was in a fearful agitation. But I said again, The Show's 
over: Ha! ha! they will not give me any money and the Show's 
over. Finally, Huish promised to give me a cheque on Monday — 
I had first asked for two hundred pounds; now I made it three 
hundred, and so I said, All right, the Show can go on. And on 
Monday I had my cheque. A little later I exhibited the other 
etchings I made in Venice at the Dowdeswells." 

Ernest G. Brown was a very good friend to Whistler. "He used 
to say that he would lay the eggs," Brown told us, "but I must 
supply the incubator. But he seemed anxious not to give up 
the eggs — that was the trouble!" Financially, and it was only 
for financial reasons that Whistler was commissioned by the Fine 
Art Society, the first show of his etchings for which the Fine Art 
Society paid him twelve hundred pounds and some proofs, could 
scarcely be considered a success. The first Venice Sets were not 
disposed of for years. Nor was eighteen hundred pounds for the 
pastels a great success as these things go. The fact is, he could 
never get any one to publish a set of any of his etchings after the 
publication of the two Venetian series. There is a little confusion 
in this note about the Catalogue and the Butterflies, which we 
were able to correct before the Life was written. The Catalogue 
that contains the newspaper comments and the Butterflies dis- 
tributed to friends were for the exhibition of the Second Series of 
Etchings and Dry Points. This is the Catalogue in which 
Whistler so neatly exposed Wedmore who, after this, was careful 
not to commit himself quite so freely. He was not the only critic 
who now hesitated. Whistler's catalogues showed them up too 
unmercifully. There was a four page leaflet, a list of the First 
Venice Series, issued by the Fine Art Society but no brown paper 
catalogue. The Etchings, however, were in a brown paper portfolio. 
The Fine Art Society held probably one or more other exhibitions 
of Whistler's water-colours and pastels, but most of his exhibitions 
in these years were at Dowdeswells'. At any rate they had a number 
I 88 [1900 

4 | 



By Joseph Pennell 
Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 



By Phil May 

Failing Health and His Wanderings 

of water-colours and pastels in their possession which they event- 
ually sold at Sotheby's. J. remembers going to the sale where they 
brought a mere nothing. 

The Fine Art Society, however, arranged the first exhibition of 
his lithographs in London, in December, 1895. For this, Whistler 
asked J. to write the Introduction to the Catalogue, the only time 
he ever asked any one to do so. The exhibition was far from a 
financial success, and no one save a few artists paid the least 
attention to it. The prices were mostly two and three guineas. 
But at the sale of the Jessop Collection at the New York Anderson 
Galleries in November, 1919, for which also J. wrote an Introduc- 
tion to the Catalogue one of these lithographs brought the sum of 
thirty-six hundred dollars and the total sales were about forty 
thousand, and the whole affair was thought of enough artistic 
importance to fill columns in the American papers and to be cabled 
to Europe. Yet these were the lithographs nobody wanted twenty- 
five years before. 

The little white Pomeranian is the only dog we know of that figured 
publicly in Whistler's life. It went with the long stick and the 
cape of the overcoat, and all the gay extravagances of the 
Eighties, when it was conspicuous for a time. Mrs. Dr. Whistler 
said that he took it everywhere, to the theatre, in cabs, wherever 
he went. Once he left it for an evening by itself in the Air Street 
rooms, and when he came back it had eaten up a pair of his trousers, 
and that probably was the end, for he whipped it and called it a 
bad dog, and it disappeared as mysteriously as it appeared and 
was never replaced. 


Tuesday, September 18th, igoo. Whistler dined, to say goodbye to 
J. on the point of starting for the Lakes. A Boer evening for he 
had come with a large supply of the evening papers. J. went back 
with him to the Hotel, and to the room of the Misses Hensman, 
the Managers, and drank whiskey and soda, and Whistler talked 
"Boer" until he made them white with rage, and then put them 
into a good humour by saying that, really, they ought to have been 
Boers themselves. And the end of it was that they brought out 
some peaches, and J. did not get home until two in the morning. 
1900] 189 

The Whistler Journal 

Sunday, September 23rd. Whistler called in the morning and he 
asked me to breakfast at the studio, but I couldn't go. He said 
he was doing some of the most wonderful things in pastel, nudes, 
they were really most marvellous, but, indeed, it was high time he 
did do something. More Boer and Chamberlain talk, his pockets 
as usual full of clippings. They will make, he says, an interesting 
history of the present condition of things in England. 

Saturday, September 29th. Whistler and Miss Philip dined, and 
I invited the Greiffenhagens to meet them. First, the talk. was 
of the Paris Exhibition, the correctness and dignity of the French 
galleries, the naivete of the English, the stateliness of the Grand 
Palais, the stairway, and a something elegant and true to tradition 
about it all. Then the talk veered to the country. Greiffenhagen 
said that he felt, more and more, as if he wanted to live in the 
country. Whistler asked "Why? The country is detestable. In 
Holland, it is different. There, I can see something." "But there 
is no country in Holland," Greiffenhagen said. "And that is just 
why I like it," was Whistler's answer, "no great full-blown shape- 
less trees as in England, but everything neat and trim, and the 
trunks of the trees painted white, the cows wear quilts, and it is 
all arranged, and charming." Then, some one said "Chamber- 
lain," and the floodgates were opened. But the beautiful, kindly, 
intimate way in which Whistler said the most unpleasant things 
was stupendous. "Of course, you know, I do not speak as a 
stranger. I belong to London myself, have been here for years, 
and belong to it, and I understand, as you do" — he understands, 
that is, that Chamberlain is corrupt, that the English are hope- 
lessly stupid, and many other things as pleasant. And in proof 
of their stupidity he tells of his dinner at Heinemann's, where he 
met Madame Sarah Grand, who started the evening by saying 
how delightful it was to be back in England. She had been in 
France for five or six weeks, and during all that time had seen no 
men, until one day on the Boulevards she met two Germans whom 
she could have embraced in welcome for they, at least, were men. 
And in France, the supposed-to-be men never could forget that 
190 [1900 

Failing Health and His Wanderings 

women are women — she liked to meet men as comrades — she did 
not want them always to be remembering her sex. And Whistler's 
comment was, "certainly the Englishwoman succeeds, as no others 
can, in obliging men to forget her sex." The other story was of a 
Lady Something, at Mrs. Curtis', in Venice, one afternoon meeting 
an Italian Princess who had just married a distinguished Roman 
Prince, a descendant of one of the oldest families in Rome. Lady — 
complimented the Princess on her English. Oh, my grandfather 
was English, she explained. "I am so glad you're English," said 
Lady . "You know in England we don't think much of for- 
eign Princesses." "And in Italy, we don't think much of English 
manners," was the answer. Mrs. Greiffenhagen wondered if 
England is in her decadence; thought not because art always 
marks the decadence of a country and there was none here yet. 
And she appealed to Whistler: didn't he think that the develop- 
ment of art in a country was a sign of its decadence? But he 
didn't know, "a good many countries manage to go to the dogs 
without it." 

Maurice Greiffenhagen was an original member of the Council 
of the International. But he soon resigned. Later he went over 
to the Academic ranks. 

Sunday, September 30th. Breakfasted at one in the studio with 
Whistler and Miss Philip. He had just seen the reproduction of 
The Little White Girl in The Art Journal's Paris Exhibition, and 
Thomson's remark that it was for this he was given the Grand 
Prix. "He is playing into the hands of the many who like The 
Times man and D.S.M. are always passing over the recent work for 
the early masterpieces," Whistler said. "All are masterpieces; 
there is no better, no worse. The thing has always gone on and 
grown and the pictures I am painting now are full of qualities they 
cannot understand. D.S.M. cannot even get his facts straight. 
He spoke of The Little White Girl in the Salon des Refuses. It was 
never there. That was The White Girl, and The Little White Girl 
was painted some years after." He showed me two water-colours 
done in Holland — one of the sea rolling in to the low stretch of 
1900] 191 

The Whistler Journal 

sands, the other of Domburg nestling among the dunes — and a 
series of wonderful little pastels of the nude. 

Thomson is David Croal Thomson who, at that time, was the 
editor of The Art Journal and who was issuing, in serial parts, a 
publication on the different art sections in the Paris Exposition 
of 1900, and so important that Whistler did not care to ignore its 
mistakes. The Times man was T. Humphry Ward, — "the plain 
person Humphry," Whistler liked to call him. As will be seen, 
Whistler felt keenly and resented what seemed a deliberate attempt 
in England to deprive him of the honours awarded him in France. 
D. S. M. is D. S. MacColl, then art critic of The Saturday Review. 
His Scotch nonconformist conscience sometimes coloured his criti- 
cism in a manner incomprehensible and annoying to Whistler. 
For another specimen of it, we forget just what, earlier the same 
year, Whistler told J. there could be no sufficient punishment 
except to put D. S. M. in the Infantry that he might be marched 
into one of the Boer traps for the British and be shot, "that we 
hear him and read him no more." He tired of MacColl's cham- 
pionship of the New English Art Club which he described once as 
"only a raft.'* 

Thursday, October 4th. Whistler came in late, about ten in the 
evening — for a few minutes — wants to ask J. to dinner, if J. gets 
back by Monday. Was afraid to stay longer, for he would certainly 
go to sleep. He laughed at what he calls my discretion. "You 
never have anything to tell me about people you see. Well, you 
know, the truth is, you have a cupboard full of skeletons and some 
day, when you are pulling the strings of one to put it back carefully 
in place, the whole lot will come rattling down about your ears." 
This was because Gosse and MacColl had been dining with me the 
night before. He had read MacColl's article in The Saturday, the 
first about the Paris Exhibition, devoted almost altogether to 
Manet, with just a passing mention of Whistler and Fantin and 
the others of the group. "It's all very well," Whistler said — 
"Manet did good work, but he was always L'Ecolier." 

Gosse is Edmund Gosse and MacColl, D. S. M. Whistler delighted 
in gossip and it was a disappointment to him when we had none to 
regale him with. He had ceased to be discreet himself, he would 
say, and did not expect discretion in others. 
192 [1900 

Failing Health and His Wanderings 

Sunday, October yth. Whistler called in the morning early to say 
"how do you do" to J. who came back last night. Said he would 
come to dinner, only he had arranged to dine with Jonathan Sturges 
at some little French restaurant. "Might I, perhaps, bring him?" 
We said, yes, of course, and they came at eight. He had been the 
night before dining in the Carlton Grill Room. "It is wonderful, 
I can go nowhere without meeting people I know. In the grill 
room was the manager of the Savoy. Upstairs, in the hall, a man 
bore down upon me, My dear Whistler, I am so glad to see you 
looking so well. You don't remember me ? Chetwynd — Sir George 
Chetwynd. In the hall where I went for coffee, where the music 
is, at once General Arthur Collins, Princess Louise's Equerry, was 
at my side. So glad, I'm with some Americans, you must join us, 
nice simple Americans! Simple! Americans! Ha! ha! I laughed. 
But my dear Whistler, you must come, and I spent the evening 
with him. And here was this correct Equerry in the toils, why and 
what for, I do not know, of evidently an American millionaire, 
and so they are all being taken possession of in the Island!" He 
brought with him a beautiful Caran D'Ache — Le Depart du Mare- 
chal Roberts — with the Boer popping up out of the box as the last 
handkerchief is waved and the boat steams off. 

Jonathan Sturges was an American, a little dwarf, of whom Whistler 
said on one occasion when he had been on George Vanderbilt's 
yacht: "There we all were, you know — Philip — Velasquez — even 
the dwarves!" for Paul Leicester Ford was also in the party. 
Whistler was keen to keep on the right side of Vanderbilt and other 
patrons. J. will never forget one evening when Whistler was in 
bed and said he could not possibly get up. But a message or tele- 
gram from Vanderbilt asking him to dine brought him at once out 
of bed, and he went off in a hansom, and the next day, when we 
saw him, seemed the better for it. 

Thursday, October nth. We had already arranged to have Mr. 
Radford, when Whistler wrote that he would dine with us. It was 
a curious combination, not sympathetic, but appreciated as every- 
thing of the kind must be by Whistler. He arrived, armed with 
Caran D'Ache's last cartoon in Le Journal; all the events of the 
1900] 193 


The Whistler Journal 

day, seen from a balloon. The result was talk of the events of the 
day. I said I was glad the Americans had the sense, once they 
secured their Minister, to march out of China and Chinese compli- 
cations. "But why shouldn't they?" Whistler asked. I suggested 
that after Manila and the Philippines one wasn't sure of American 
policy any longer. "Oh, but the Philippines," Whistler said, 
if that is quite different. Just a watering place!" Dinner dragged 
a bit, Radford being much engrossed with his own journalistic 
performances. After dinner I was alone for a minute with Whistler 
in the other room. Augustine made a descent upon us to ask who 
was the Monsieur who put us all to sleep? And Whistler just had 
time to say with pleasure, he had been dining with a type, a type 
he had fancied long since vanished. Of the rest of his talk I heard 
little, being obliged to entertain Radford while Whistler and J. 
talked over the International. 

Mr. Radford was Ernest Radford, a minor poet and art critic. He 
died but a few months ago. We have referred to Whistler's liking 
for Augustine, upon whose intelligent sympathy, as on this occa- 
sion, he could invariably rely. 

Sunday, October 14th. A funny dinner party: Whistler, Lavery, 
Miss Philip, and Mr. Harper, Professor of Assyrian at the Chicago 
University, whom J. picked up at the Whitefriars Club last night. 
He talked to me half through dinner, so that I only had scraps of 
Whistler. The first thing I had a chance to listen to was an account 
of the state of things in the studios when, as a youngster, he first 
came to London. "Well, you know, I was received graciously 
by the painters. Then there was coldness, and I could not under- 
stand. Artists locked themselves up in their studios, opened the 
door only on the chain; if they met each other on the street, they 
barely spoke. Models went round with an air of mystery. When 
I asked one where she had been posing, she said to Frith and Watts 
and Tadema. Golly, what a crew! I said. And that's just what 
they says when I told them I was a'posing to you. Then I found 
out the mystery; it was the moment of painting the Royal Academy 
picture. Each man was afraid his subject might be stolen. It 
194 [1900 

Failing Health and His Wanderings 

ivas the era of the subject. And, at last, on Varnishing Day there 
was the subject in all its glory — wonderful! — The British subject! 
Like a flash the inspiration came — the Inventor! And in the 
Academy, there you saw him, the familiar model, the soldier or the 
Italian. And there he sat, hands on knees, head bent, brows knit, 
eyes staring; in a corner angels and cogwheels and things. Close 
to him, his wife, cold, ragged, the baby in her arms; he had failed. 
The story was told. It was clear as day — amazing! — The British 
subject — What?" 

Then, one of his surprises. With all his West Point correctness 
and elegance, he now and then ventures on the last story you 
would expect from him, but always told, as he would say, charm- 
ingly. "A dandy about town, in the days when I was at Venice, 
went with a Lord Some One and a third man to the same hotel. 
They had heard much of mosquitoes and worse. The first morning, 
the dandy and the third man were bitter in the account of the 
misery they suffered during the night. 'But,' said the Lord — 'I 
had no trouble, I saw no bugs.' The dandy stuttered a little. 
'Even b-b-b-bugs,' he said, 'must draw the 1-1-line somewhere!' " 
Lavery had a nice mosquito story. He had been warned of the 
American mosquito. In Philadelphia he stayed at a hotel at the 
corner of Broad and Walnut. - Just as he was going to sleep he 
heard a loud buzzing. He jumped up in agony. The ordinary 
mosquito poisoned him. This, he thought, meant death. He pulled 
down the windows, turned on the gas, looked all over the walls as 
well as he could for the pattern, found nothing, put out the light, 
but could not sleep for hours, lay there hot and cold. At last 
after a short, restless sleep, he woke with a start in the early morn- 
ing, to the same loud, awful buzzing — another mosquito? It was 
the electric car round the corner. He had heard the last trolley car 
at night and been wakened by the first in the morning. After 
dinner Miss Philip and I sat together, while the men smoked, so 
that I had little more talk with Whistler. 

Chase, dining with us one night in Buckingham Street, gave us 
another instance of Royal Academy methods that puzzled and at 
1900] 195 

The Whistler Journal 

the same time amused Whistler. Perhaps Chase published the 
story — he published most everything he knew about Whistler, 
but it will bear repetition. He went one day with Whistler to see 
George Boughton. The studio was flooded with light, no curtains, 
no blinds, no shades of any kind. Whistler's face screwed up in 
discomfort. "What's all this for?" "Why," said Boughton, 
"when I paint an outdoor picture in brilliant sunshine, I want to 
have all the real sunshine I can get in my studio." "Hm, hm," 
said Whistler. "And so, I suppose, if you were a musician and 
wanted to compose a blacksmith's chorus, you would go to the 
smithy's and put your ear close to the anvil, and get all the noise 
you could?" 

Tuesday, October 16th. A meeting here of the International Com- 
mittee was called for eight — and Whistler and Webb, his lawyer, 
dined with us first; Mr. Webb was late, so that dinner was hurried. 
The talk was chiefly of the International and the chances of an 
Exhibition, and the gallery where it might be held. Thomson's 
suggestion that the Society might claim the Royal Academy as a 
public building was discussed. Whistler evidently liked the sug- 
gestion, but Webb thought all the facts should be known before 
the proposition was made to the Committee. He was afraid there 
might be a reason against it somewhere; otherwise, why could not 
all societies of artists claim it? There was a probability, too, now 
that Admiral Maxse is dead, of making arrangements and better 
ones at the Skating Rink in Knightsbridge, where, after all, 
Whistler said, "the public now expect to find us." He recalled 
for Webb's benefit the evening Blaikie dined here when he told 
Blaikie he was one of the McNeills of Barra. His was the real 
Highland type, Blaikie said; that was why he looked so much like 
the present chief of the McNeills. " I am the chief," said Whistler. 
When the members of the Committee — only three — came, and 
after he had kept them waiting while he finished his dinner, it was 
funny to see how he got ready to be received by them, stopping a 
minute in the hall, straightening himself, giving a touch to his 
cravat, and another to his hair, just like a woman on her way to 
the drawing-room. 

Webb is William Webb, Whistler's solicitor for many years. He 
was besides the solicitor for the International, and, finally, for 

196 [1900 

Failing Health and His Wanderings 

Miss Philip also, which led to endless complications. When the 
Whistler Memorial was started, he became its solicitor and treas- 
urer. Air. Webb certainly did an enormous amount for all these 
persons and bodies, and received in return little in cash, but a 
good deal in kudos, and more in blame. He is a very sporting 
person and loves the association with artists and actors, for many 
of whom he was the legal adviser. He was long Beerbohm Tree's 
solicitor. He is a curious type, not altogether extinct in England, 
whom Dickens might have used. 

Whistler was fastidious about his personal appearance and was 
often misjudged for it. He was thought effeminate. Even artists 
failed to understand, with Mr. Walter MacEwen who gave us his 
first impression of Whistler at a big dinner in Paris a few years 
before Whistler's death. From the hall, MacEwen saw Whistler, 
as he lingered in the dressing-room, arranging his curls and necktie 
before the glass — "posing and prinking" — and MacEwen, after 
that, had no more use for him as a man, not appreciating the dandy 
— but not to appreciate the dandy in Whistler was not to know 
one very charming and characteristic side of him. He was neither 
vain nor effeminate. He simply sought perfection of finish in 
himself as in his art, in his writing — in everything that con- 
cerned him. 

Saturday, October 20th. Dined late at Heinemann's where Whistler 
is staying. Mrs. Heinemann was away. Dr. and Mrs. Chalmers 
Mitchell and Mrs. Ochs were the others. Somehow, not a bril- 
liant dinner. I sat next to Heinemann and Whistler was in the 
middle of the table between the other two women, on the 
opposite side, and I had little talk with him. He was telling 
Mrs. Mitchell the story of the entertainments given by Lewis of 
Lewis and Allenby, which I think I have written out already. His 
favourite memory is of the fancy dress party, to which Tadema 
came in full Roman costume, toga, sandals on his bare feet, crowned 
with flowers, and wearing eye-glasses. I do not remember how it 
started, but Heinemann began to confide to us what he does to 
keep the little hair still left to him. He did not think, as some one 
suggested, that it was the constant cutting or washing of their 
hair that made men lose it. Look at Whistler. "Yes, but give me 
time," said Whistler, hugely pleased with himself for saying it. 
Upstairs, again, I had no chance to talk with him, until just before 
1900] 197 

The Whistler Journal 

leaving. "Dreadful," he said, "dreadful, you know, the way you 
drag me in. Here is Heinemann throwing down a letter on the 
table telling me I should read it, and here you are asking me per- 
emptorily to settle finally and definitely about the publication of 
the book, and saying Heinemann told you I was back in town. 
Shocking, shocking! Why so excited?" And he complained to J. 
"you are bent on making an Old Master of me before my time." 

Nothing in London amused Whistler so much as Alma-Tadema's 
performances. The golden stairs of his house Whistler always 
called "brazen cheap," and Tadema he always described as "he 
of the St. John's Wooden eye." Once, in that little room at 
Garlant's where Whistler and his friends often lingered in the 
late evening, something was said of Tadema. Miss Hensman, the 
manager, protested. "But I like Tadema's pictures." Whistler 
looked carefully round, then "Hush-sh-sh," he whispered, "I 
won't say anything about it." This reminds us of the man who 
could not quite understand what it was he liked in Japanese prints 
and was puzzled by Whistler's work in just the same way. What 
was it? colour — line — drawing — What? "Well, you know," said 
Whistler, "if I were you, I just wouldn't worry about it!" Poor 
Tadema! His fame ended with his life, while Whistler's began 
with his death and has increased ever since. 

As time went on, although Whistler always wanted us to write 
the book, he did not want to be bothered about it, especially as his 
health made him more nervous about himself. We recognized 
this and bothered him as little as possible, and undoubtedly it 
was because we did not bother him that he gave us so much infor- 
mation and talked so freely and frankly. A distinct difference is 
seen in the notes towards the end of 1900, as he began to grow 
weaker and more nervous. The long talks were the exceptions. 
This year really marks the Beginning of the End, as we say in the 
Life. The Journal becomes a chronicle of his health. 

Tuesday, October 30th. A message from Whistler to say that he is 
just back from Paris, and is at Heinemann's, laid up with a bad 
cold, and will Joseph come up in the afternoon and bring The 
Magazine of Art and Pall Mall with him? He has just seen The 
Daily Chronicle and the reference to Spielmann's Protest and 
Halkett's note. Later on I got a telegram asking me to dinner, 
198 [1900 

Failing Health and His Wanderings 

and we both dined there. Whistler was fairly tired by the time I 
arrived, but was considering the question whether the Protest was 
libellous or not. 

The matter which now worried Whistler, though the worry should 
have been spared him, came from the fact that, after he had sent 
his own portrait, Brown and Gold, and one of Mrs. Whibley, 
VAndalouse, to the 1900 Exposition in Paris, Mr. Cauldwell, the 
American Commissioner, or some one connected with the American 
Section, thought it would be a good thing to add The Little White 
Girl to his exhibit. This he did, entirely by invitation. When the 
medals were awarded, the plaque stating that he won the Grand 
Prix, was put on the frame of The Little White Girl which was not 
in competition, as only works produced since the year 1889 were 
eligible. As we have said, he won another Grand Prix for his 
etchings, many of which also were not eligible. A British art 
writer named M. H. Spielmann took the occasion to criticise the 
awards in the American Section with which he had nothing what- 
soever to do as he was supposed to be an Englishman, and he had 
the impudence to suggest, in The Magazine of Art of which he was 
editor and in the London Graphic to which he contributed, that 
because the picture on which the plaque was put was not eligible, 
therefore the Grand Prix for painting should not be awarded to 
Whistler. This is the critic, now forgotten as an art authority, 
who had previously described Whistler's lithographs as "pencil 
sketches carefully reproduced," who had got hold of advance sheets 
of the TenO 'Clock by methods he never could explain and reviewed 
it in The Pall Mall, who had acquired his knowledge of art, Whistler 
said, by running to fires and reporting them, and who was last 
seen by Whistler walking down Piccadilly with the nude on his 
arm, "trying to explain Horsley soit qui mal y pense." Whistler 
was rightly indignant at Spielmann's impudent interference and 
made him apologize for this interference, as the notes record. We 
cannot recall just what Halkett's note was. Halkett was then 
writing art criticism for The Pall Mall Gazette, and when there was 
question of Whistler was usually on the right side. 

Thursday, November 8th. Came home at six to find Whistler here. 
I had been to tea at Mrs. Prothero's where I met Mrs. Z. I asked 
Whistler if he had ever met her. "No, I have never met her, but 
I understand many have!" He told us of a breakfast at Heine- 
mann's, where there had been some very British Britons, a German 
1900] 199 

The Whistler Journal 

and himself. One of the Britons was bragging about British 
honesty in all things, in the Colonies, in the conduct of the late war. 
"The trouble is, we're too honest," he said, "we've always been 
stupidly honest." Whistler, who had been saying nothing, got up. 
"'You see,' I said to the German, 'it's now historically acknowl- 
edged: whenever there has been honesty in this country, there has 
been stupidity.' And with that, I left the room." 

Friday, November gth. Whistler and Webb both came to dinner 
to talk over the Spielmann business, and there was little talk of 
anything else. J. had collected everything from the first note in 
The Graphic, the announcement really, of the Protest in The 
Magazine of Art, to the last comment by Halkett in The Pall Mall. 
Webb thought there was distinctly libel, and that Spielmann's 
letter of explanation in The Daily Chronicle only aggravated the 
case, showing he knew the facts he had suppressed. One thing 
Whistler told us casually is of importance in the history of his 
work. I stated in The Daily Chronicle that the date was plainly 
on The Little White Girl, so the jury of acceptance knew what they 
were about in hanging it. I was sure, or thought I was sure of it 
because of the date on the reproduction in Virtue's Paris Exhibi- 
tion. But Whistler said that this was an old reproduction, and 
that, recently, in working on the picture he painted out the date, 
as he did not think there was any use of seeing those great figures 
sprawling there. It was decided that Webb was to write asking 
for an apology from the different papers — Graphic, Magazine of 
Art, Pall Mall, Globe — beginning with The Graphic. Whistler said 
that when he sent in the two full-length portraits — of himself and 
Mrs. Whibley — both painted within recent years, the Committee 
begged him to send something else, and The Little White Girl was 
suggested because it had never been seen in Paris. But this he did 
not seem to have mentioned in the affair. 

Sunday, November nth. Whistler came in very late in the after- 
noon. Webb is to bring the letter tomorrow when they all dine 
at Lavery's. I only saw him for a minute as I had to dress for 
dinner, the Janviers and Fishers coming, and he could not stay. 
200 [1900 



Drawn and cut by William Nicholson, Esq. 

Failing Health and His Wanderings 

Monday, November 12th. Whistler, Webb, and J. all dined at 
Lavery's. The letter wouldn't do at all — too complicated and 
long, and Whistler is to come tomorrow morning and go into the 
matter with J. 

Tuesday, November 13th. Whistler came in a little before ten, 
just as I was off to the Portrait Painters. It was decided to send 
the letter to The Graphic only, and wait developments. Whistler 
wrote to Cauldwell, the American Commissioner, about it a week 
ago, and in answering a letter from Cauldwell yesterday, I said 
that J. and I felt an official word from him would clear the air. 
J. went to the South Kensington meeting in the evening. Cundall 
was horrified at the scheme of hanging J. suggested. "Why," he 
said, "if we hang the drawings like that, the Show will look just 
like the British Artists when Whistler was there." 
Whistler dined alone with me. He wanted to know all about the 
Portrait Painters' show, how his picture looks, what the critics 
said, and because I gathered so little from the critics, I know he 
feels it one of the occasions when my discretion amounts to indis- 
cretion. I told him about MacColl's scheme for presenting a 
Rodin — the Balzac — to South Kensington. "Well, MacColl," he 
said, "always gets hold of the wrong end, and, of course, admires 
Rodin for the things, like the Balzac, which are least admirable. 
It is the same with Manet about whom he has been writing of late. 
Manet was a student, with a sense of certain things in paint, that 
was all. He never understood that art was a positive science, one 
step leading to another. He painted his dark pictures and they 
looked very well when you came to them at Durand-Ruel's, after 
wandering through rooms full of awful blues and violets and greens. 
But Manet was so little in earnest in them that, midway in his 
career, he took to the violets and blues and greens himself. It is 
the same with many men. They paint in one way, with brilliant 
colour say, then they see something like Ribot, and think, O well, 
we had better try this. And, in the end, they do nothing of them- 
selves. Look at Shannon. The Shannon at the Portrait Painters 
is very weak." 
1900] 201 

The Whistler Journal 

Then he suggested winter vegetables, revealing a surprising knowl- 
edge of just how rice and beets, among others, were to be cooked. 
And after dinner, he slept — it was because he was sleeping so badly 
at nights — and there was a fine struggle between his sleepiness and 
his gallantry. And then Augustine made him a good strong grog 
for his cold. And then Joseph came back from South Kensington, 
bringing the E. J. Sullivans with him, and I was too ill from the 
tropical heat of the room, the big fire I kept up for him, to listen 
to anybody or anything. 

Thursday, November 15th. Whistler again came in early, with the 
papers about the private view at the Portrait Painters, and why 
wasn't my article in? Webb has sent his letter to The Graphic, 
and The Graphic has written politely to say they have sent for 
Spielmann, and so the matter rests. It is certainly too late for 
this week. 

Friday, November 16th. Whistler, confined to the hotel by his 
cold, sent for J. who went back in the afternoon, when George 
Vanderbilt and Sturges came in together. The latter said they 
were all talking about the affair at the Arts Club, and also at 
Rothenstein's where he had been and found the usual crowd, 
Steer, Tonks, Fred Brown. They were still full of Whistler's 
appearance at the Eden sale — he had ruined prices, they said 

Saturday, November iyth. Whistler again ill in the hotel, and 
again sent for J. who went in the afternoon. But 'there is no 
new development. 

Monday, November igth. Whistler dined — he had been at the 
studio all day, but was worried about himself — his cough will not 
go, and he talks of Tangier. Nothing from Webb. Strange was 
here too, and Whistler recalled his South Kensington experiences. 
" I was a youngster at the time, of course, but I knew old Sir Henry 
Cole and the other South Kensington people of his day. I told 
Sir Henry that he ought to provide me with fine studios in the 
Museum, it would, well, you know, be an honour to the Museum. 
202 [1900 





By Harper Pennington and Evolution of his Signature 





By Whistler 

Failing Health and His Wanderings 

Sir Henry always liked me. It was in the days when Haden was 
general practitioner, and through knowing all these people he got 
a post for his valet in the Library, and for his coachman's son in 
the Science Department." But later on he was fearfully upset 
because he sneezed. "That," he said, "is something new, I am 
sure," and it sent him home early, Strange having gone and got 
a cab for him. 

Strange is E. F. Strange, then the Keeper of Prints and Drawings 
at South Kensington — the Victoria and Albert Museum. Under 
his able administration that Department was vastly improved. 

Friday, November 23rd. Whistler called on us the first thing in the 
morning. Spielmann is to apologize in The Graphic; an abject 
apology. He was clearly wrong; he is glad to withdraw the asser- 
tion; and he apologizes. J., who had gone out before Whistler 
called, when he came back, thought Spielmann should be made to 
insert the apology in other papers and went at once to see Whistler 
about it. It was arranged that Whistler and Webb are to dine 
with us tomorrow evening to talk it over. 

Saturday, November 24th. Whistler and Webb came to dinner. 
Webb's plan is, once the apology is published in The Graphic, then 
to demand that Spielmann insert it in other papers. Having 
admitted his mistake, he can hardly refuse. Webb has written to 
The Globe. Whistler wandered off in true Whistlerian style into 
the fact that the rules were made only to be broken in cases like 
his own, as Cauldwell had been ready to admit. J. warned him 
that it would be to his disadvantage to admit as much to the 
public, who would think he thus put Spielmann in the right, and 
the final argument between them seemed, as so often before, to 
have come. But, also, as often before, it blew over. 
Webb referred to a paragraph in M. A. P. It is the same apparently 
as one published in International Art Notes for November: "An 
Art Student in Paris recently asked Mr. Whistler if he thought 
Nature should be painted as she saw it. The reply of the Master 
was, 'there is no reason why you should not paint Nature exactly 
1900] 203 

The Whistler Journal 

as you see her, provided that you do not see Nature exactly as you 
paint her.'" "As usual," Whistler said, "there is some foundation, 
but the story is garbled. I was going round the school one morning, 
the students all following me, listening and breathing hard at my 
neck, when I came to a lady who had not been there very long. 
Her palette was a mess. I pointed to different little dabs of colour, 
and asked her if she saw anything like that in the model? O, 
she said, then you want me to paint things as I see them? Well, 
yes, I thought, it would not be a bad idea. Excellent, excellent! 
A few weeks later, I was again making the round, the students 
again at my back, breathing and listening hard, and I came to the 
lady, 'I believe,' I said, 'this is the lady who wanted to know if 
she was to paint things as she saw them?' Yes, she said, she was. 
'Excellent,' I said, 'but the shock will come the day you see them 
as you paint them!'" J. told him of the young lady from Chicago 
who was here this morning, interviewing him — wanting to know 
everything, even whether he was born or not. Whistler interrupted 
him: "You should have answered, 'Yes, Madam, born, not made.'" 
The evening ended with a violent discussion about Kruger who, 
Whistler declares, has done the one and only right thing in coming 
to Europe. Webb undertook to tell us the "logic" of the South 
African business, and between them they kept us up till midnight. 
J. fought everybody about Kruger. 

Sunday, November 25th. Whistler and Cauldwell, and the Heine- 
manns to dinner. I had little chance to talk to Whistler. He told 
us one story at dinner that shows how ready he is to appreciate 
anything in the shape of drollery, even at his own expense. It was 
at the Academic "I had been talking to one of the students 
about her work, and half the time she seemed to pay no attention 
to what I said. I am afraid, I told her, you do not hear very well? 
'Yes,' she said, 'I am a little deaf; not altogether an unmiti- 
gated evil!'" 

Cauldwell was happy over the compliments he has received for the 
scheme of decoration and hanging of the American Section in Paris. 
He spoke of the intrigues of Dannat head of the American artists 
204 [1900 

Failing Health and His Wanderings 

in Paris. Whistler, with characteristic unwillingness to see what 
he does not want to see, laughed at the idea of Dannat's having 
any influence at all in Paris. But Cauldwell thought he would have 
not a little in the coming decorations to Americans. That there 
might be no mistake about the official feeling anyway, he sent in 
three names of which the American Commission approved if 
decorations were to be given to any American artists. 

John B. Cauldwell was the American Commissioner of Art at the 
Paris Exposition. He was naturally anxious to have Whistler's 
work a feature of his Section, but at first he scarcely knew the right 
way to approach Whistler. One of the first things he did on arriv- 
ing in Paris was to ask Whistler to call on him at four o'clock sharp. 
He began to understand when, a few days afterwards, Whistler 
wrote, saying he never had been and never would be any place at 
four o'clock sharp. After that, we had several enjoyable evenings 
in London together. One of the decorations went to Whistler, 
who was made an Officer of the Legion of Honour. 

Thursday, November 2Qth. Were both to dine with Whistler, but 
he was ill in bed, and so we dined with Webb alone and went with 
him, and without Whistler to see Herod at Her Majesty's. 

Saturday, December 1st. Whistler came to dinner, was better but 
more depressed than I have seen him, ordered off at once by the 
Doctor, who wants him to go somewhere by sea. He talked of the 
American pictures bought for the Luxembourg. "Really," I told 
Benedite the Director, " it was high time for me to take my 
Mummy away from his hotel!" Spielmann's apology is in The 
Graphic to-day. The Globe agrees to apologize — four hundred 
Englishmen have surrendered to the Boers — this morning brought 
the news of Oscar Wilde's death. "Really," little Sturges said 
to him, "what a week you have had I" But he was too tired to rise 
to it, and he slept the greater part of the evening. 

M. Benedite, lunching with us on the day of the opening of 
the Whistler Memorial Exhibition in London 1905, in the course 
of much Whistler talk said it was the purchase of a Burne-Jones 
for the Luxembourg that caused Whistler to protest. "Really, 
1900] 205 

The Whistler Journal 

after that, he did not know if he could leave r his Mother in 
M. Benedite's auberge." 

Tuesday, December 4th. Whistler wrote to us to ask if he could 
come to dinner. He expects to get off on Friday of this week. 
He was too tired to do much but sleep. 

Thursday, December 5th. Whistler and Miss Philip dined — we had 
asked them for the last evening but the journey is put off again. 
He was down about the way things were going in Paris in his 
dispute with the lady in the apartment above him in the Rue du 
Bac. She would beat her carpets out of the window into their 
garden, and there was no way of stopping her. He tried the law, 
but was told he must have disinterested witnesses, outside the 
family. "What can I do? I might engage a detective and a month 
might pass before she would do it again. But not long since, in 
the very act of brushing, she or her servant let a carpet fall down 
into my garden and my servant refused to give it up. The old 
lady went to law, and my lawyer advised me to give up the carpet." 
It depressed him hopelessly — thought he must start for Paris at 
once — it was always the way — people always got the better of him. 
But the extraordinary part of it to me was that he should bother 
about such trifles, or get involved in them. Then The Globe pub- 
lished an apology, but not exactly as he wanted it. Altogether, 
he saw everything blue, and for the first time, went to sleep long 
before dinner was over. Sullivan and Hartley came in afterwards, 
but it could not rouse him, he talked steamships with Joseph and 
left at an unusually early hour. 

Monday, December 10th. The Sauters and the Waltons to dinner, 
as an International Sub-Committee Meeting, with Mr. Webb, was 
to be held afterwards at nine. Whistler not yet gone, came in 
when dinner was almost over. "Lowered in tone — the Doctor 
says I am — well, you know, the result, no doubt, of living so long in 
the midst of English pictures." But he was too low, even for the 
usual jest with Augustine, who saw he was in no humour to be 
"scolded." However, a little dinner and the Spielmann affair 
206 [1900 



W 111 ¥w$~7- 



In the possession of Messrs. Knoedler and Co. 
(See page 209) 

Failing Health and His Wanderings 

woke him up. He went through it all for the benefit of the Sauters 
and Waltons — and then the Boers came next. But he left at once 
after the Committee Meeting and I saw little of him. 

Wednesday, December 12th. Whistler telegraphed us that he would 
come to dinner. J. was lecturing at the Automobile Club — and 
he dined with me alone. He leaves on Friday. The Chairman 
of the P. & O. Company, Sir Thomas Sutherland, has given him 
letters to the Manager and the Captain, recommending that every- 
thing should be done for him, and this, and the little attentions it 
implies, seemed to reconcile him to going. He sails for Gibraltar, 
and from there, probably to Tangier and Algiers. He slept calmly 
after dinner. Tried to shake it off, said it was shocking, but could 
not help himself, and slept again. After his grog, about half past 
ten, went home. 

Friday, December 14th. After breakfast, J. went round to say good- 
bye to Whistler. Found him in all the disorder of packing, wishing 
he had not decided for Tangier and waiting for Mr. Philip who is 
to go with him. J. left him to his packing, and we now wait to 
see if he really gets off. 

He did- get off the next morning. 

One matter which E. did not note was rather important. The 
day before he left, he hurriedly sent round ten or a dozen copper 
plates to have them grounded, wanting to take them with him the 
next day. J. grounded them at once as Whistler asked, and 
Whistler packed them up in his shirts, J. telling him, however, that 
the ground would probably come off as it was not properly cooled 
and fixed. He drew on some of them in Corsica, may be on all, 
and tried to bite a few. But the ground did come off, as J. warned 
him it would, though even then the designs could have been 
preserved if Whistler had only known how, as we know now. If 
the executrix still has the plates with the drawings on them they 
could easily be bitten by Sir Frank Short and printed. When 
Whistler returned, he blamed the whole thing on J. But J., as 
usual, refused to be blamed and one of the worst of all rows between 
them blew over like all the rest. 
1900] 207 



Friday, May loth, igoi. Got back from Paris and the Salons a 
little after six to be met at Charing Cross Station by Augustine 
in a great state of excitement. M. Whistler had arrived from 
Corsica this morning, and had come to see me just as she was 
starting to the station to meet me. He walked back to Charing 
Cross with her, everybody staring. He had on a big overcoat, the 
brown one, and a little round felt hat, en voyage; she, as usual 
en cheveux. He asked for all the news and she invited him to 
dinner. Madame would not be pleased if he did not dine, and there 
were pigeons for dinner, just what he liked! I got home and had 
just changed my gown when he arrived. "Positively shocking 
and no possible excuse for it, but — well — here I am." He looks 
infinitely better, like himself again. He was full of his journey 
back, on a P. and O. steamer from Marseilles. "There I fell into 
the midst of the Islanders, and after so many months away! 
Nobody but English on board. After months of not seeing them, 
really they were amazing. There they all were at dinner, you know, 
the women in low gowns, the men in dinner jackets. They might 
look a trifle green, they might suddenly run when the ship rolled, 
but what matter? There they were, men in dinner jackets, stew- 
ards behind their chairs in dinner jackets, and so, all's right with 
the country. And, do you know, it made the whole business clear 
to me down there in South Africa — what ? At home, every English- 
man does his duty, appears in his dinner jacket at the dinner hour, 
and so what difference does it make what the Boers are doing? 
All is well with England! You know, you might just as well dress 
to ride in an omnibus!" 

As to himself: "I have discovered, at last, what is the matter with 
me. It never occurred to me before. At first, at Ajaccio, though 
I got through little, I never went out without a sketch book or an 
etching plate. I was always meaning to work, always thinking 
I must. Then the Curator of the Museum offered me the use of 
his studio. The first day I was there, he watched me, but said 
208 [190 1 



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nothing until the afternoon. Then, 'But, Mr. Whistler, I have 
looked at you, I have been watching. You are all nerves. You 
do nothing. You try to but you cannot settle down to it. What 
you need is rest, to do nothing, not to try to do anything.' And 
then, all of a sudden, you know, it struck me I had never rested, 
I never had done nothing, it was the one thing I needed. And I 
put myself down to doing nothing — amazing, you know. No more 
sketch books, no more etching plates. I just sat in the sun and 
slept. I was cured. You know, Joseph must sit in the sun and 
sleep. Write and tell him so!" 

After he left London in the early winter, Whistler had gone 
straight to Gibraltar, and then to the African coast, and zigzagged 
back between Tangier, Algiers and Marseilles, hunting for warm 
weather, which he did not find. Finally, he went to Corsica and 
there he did find it. He tried to work all the while and made, 
among other things, a series of little pen and pencil drawings, some 
of which were purchased by Richard A. Canfield. He wrote to 
us only once or twice. But he got Mr. Heinemann to join him in 
Corsica, and there they spent some time together, and he worked 
on one or more of his copper plates, the ground of which came off, 
as we have said. J. was, as usual at this time of the year, away 
when Whistler got back. 

We were often amused at his conviction that J. must be in need 
of the same remedies and should be forced to take them. Once, 
when ill in bed at the Rue du Bac, in the hands of the Doctor, he 
sent E. word that J., who had nothing in the world the matter 
with him, must have a Doctor too, must learn there were other 
things besides his Yankee patent cherry drug, a tonic we had come 
upon at a chemist's in the Strand and patriotically invested in as 
our unfailing pick-me-up, while Whistler scoffed. 

Sunday, May 12th. Whistler, Kennedy, and Landor came to 
dinner. Whistler told them too about the dinner jacket. But the 
talk was mostly on the Boers, and I thought every minute war 
would break out between him and Kennedy. The evening was 
spent by me chiefly in preventing it. 

Landor is A. H. Savage Landor, the traveller, who at one time 
stayed much at Heinemann's flat. Whistler was very fond of him, 
as we all were. When Landor escaped from Thibet, Whistler sent 

I9 01 ] 209 


The Whistler Journal 

him a telegram of congratulations, one of the first he received at 
the frontier. Landor could tell stories and act them even better 
than he wrote, and we shall never forget the morning when, with 
a hearth rug for a kimono, he ate an imaginary dinner out of an 
inkstand with two pencils for chopsticks, and described the talk 
of the whole company with whom he was dining. Or, another 
time, when he told how in pumps he won a hare and hound race 
in the Scotch Highlands, and how, in the same light shoes, he 
climbed the Himalayas. 

Friday, May iph. Dined at Mr. Heinemann's and Whistler was 
there, but I had no chance for more than a word or two. There 
was a big party. 

Monday, May 20th. Whistler and the Sauters came to dinner. 
Talk all of Boers. But he told us of a wonderful cake he had eaten 
at Ajaccio. "After I had begun my rest cure, I used to saunter 
up every day to the pastry cook's, where they make wonderful 
cakes, buy a large supply, bring them back, and devour them all 
alone when I sat in the sun in the afternoon. Shocking! Well, 
you know, one day I saw a most beautiful cake, of a wonderful 
golden colour. What ? It was fairly big, but it looked uncommonly 
good, and I bought it. I took it home, I went upstairs to my bed- 
room, and I began. It was crisp, fresh, but with the first mouthful, 
I was appalled at the flavour. Tried a second, a third, then rang 
the bell and presented it to the maid. The next day I told the 
Curator and the mystery was explained. It was a cake peculiar 
to Ajaccio and made there ever since the days of the old Romans, 
a cake of honey and oil they offered in sacrifice at their great spring 
festival. I was enchanted. The Roman tradition is almost as 
fine as the West Point tradition." 

Sunday, May 26th. Dine alone with Whistler and Kennedy at 

Monday, May 27th. Dined at Heinemann's and Whistler was 
there, but it was again a big dinner party, about sixteen. He was 
at the other end of the table, and I hardly had a chance for more 
than two words. 
2IO [1901 

Return From Corsica and Life in England 

Sunday, June 2nd. Whistler and Kennedy both dined with me, 
but nothing special to record. Chiefly Boer and the old facts 
and arguments. 

Saturday, June 15th. A visit from Whistler and Kennedy in the 

Wednesday, June 26th. Whistler came to dinner — no one else, but 
in the hurry of Helen's coming next week and the confusion of 
Augustine's going made no record. 

This is one of the periods when the notes became brief and scanty, 
but they give at least a suggestion of the reason. Whistler was 
away now and then. J. spent the late spring and all the summer 
and autumn of 1901 in Venice. Helen is Helen Robins, E.'s sister 
who came to spend a month in Buckingham Street when they were 
to go on together to Venice and join J. and this meant much work 
to be finished first and arrangements to be made with an under- 
study on the papers E. worked for. While Augustine's occasional 
and, we thanked Heaven, short journeys were the cause of such 
confusion for our small household which depended on her, that the 
wonder was not so much that E. did not just then make fuller 
notes of her meetings with Whistler, but rather that she made any. 

Thursday, July 16th. Whistler, Landor, Rhodes, Miss Edith Pettit 
and Helen to dinner. Whistler indignant with the young American 
who shaves off his moustaches, just as he turns up his trousers, 
simply because it is the fashion in Piccadilly. "Well, you know," 
he said to Rhodes, "you would be far more distinguished with a 
moustache." West Point much to the front. "To try this recent 
hazing case in a court or by court martial— to take a cadet into 
court — you know — destructive to the whole morale of the place. 
In my time there were no laws to forbid this or that. There was 
the unwritten law of tradition. The boys were on their honour 
and nothing held them more firmly. It was such a disgrace to 
offend against these unwritten laws that the offender's career was 
ruined forever." 

Rhodes is Harrison Rhodes, writer of short stories and successful 
plays, then living in London, just round the corner from us in 
1901] 211 

The Whistler Journal 

York Buildings, which gave Augustine her name for him, le Mon- 
sieur du Quartier. Miss Pettit, now Mrs. Adolphe Borie, is a 
Philadelphian so that the party that evening was almost entirely- 
American and therefore the more to Whistler's liking. If Whistler 
never went back to his own country, if he could not stand American 
papers, he never lost his pleasure in seeing his own countrymen. 

Thursday, August ist. Whistler and Kennedy came to dinner. A 
quiet evening, everybody tired. The band played Offenbach to 
Whistler's delight. He kept time with his foot, giving a little 
cancan sort of kick with it at the end. "Well, you know, there is 
music that really has distinction." A most wonderful essay on 
art in brown covers, by Arthur Haden, sent me for review by The 
Daily Chronicle, was lying on the table. Whistler told me what 
I did not know, this Arthur Haden is his nephew. He saw my note 
about it in The Daily Chronicle. "Ha! ha! you didn't know and 
I'm glad of it. As it is, you didn't hesitate to abuse it because 
of its absurd and wordy obscurity. Had you known, you might 
have hedged. You always are so polite to Seymour Haden, and 
I can never understand why?" 

Our Buckingham Street windows overlooked the Embankment 
Gardens where, directly below, the County Council band played 
from seven to ten every evening through the summer. Its noise 
was often an interruption to talk, but on hot evenings when talk 
was an effort even Whistler could find relaxation in it. A day or 
two after this dinner, E. started for Venice and did not return 
until September. 

Thursday, September 12th. The first evening and Whistler dines 
with me after my return from Venice. Helen still with me. The 
Hammonds, her friends from Memphis, Tennessee, dining with us. 
Whistler fine on West Point and niggers, but chiefly what I have 
heard before and noted. He was in his most charming mood. 
Explained the Ruskin case to Mr. Hammond, who is a lawyer, 
and read bits from The Gentle Art which I got out for him. 

One of the most extraordinary things that has happened lately is 
that, now Whistler has come into his own, the English are again 

212 [l90I 

Return From Corsica and Life in England 

trying to re-incarnate Ruskin. The French tried years ago, and 
failed, but the English have returned to their prophet. Not as a 
literary person, however, but as an artist. A show of his work has 
been held at the Royal Academy, where one for Whistler was never 
suggested officially. Some Academicians, after his death, did make 
the suggestion but quite unofficially, and J. and Heinemann at 
once put a stop to their schemes — to the Academy's patronage of 
Whistler postponed until it was too late to be of advantage to him, 
but would bring shillings to the Academy coffers. During his life 
the Academicians spurned him. And it should be stated here that 
Whistler's name was put down at one time for membership in the 
Royal Academy of Arts, but he was never elected. We do not know 
if his name ever came up for election, according to the custom of 
the Academy, though we are positive that to the day of his death 
he would have accepted membership, just as he would have 
accepted the knighthood which he and everybody else thought 
would be given him when he was President of the Society of 
British Artists and obtained for it the title of Royal. But the 
knighthood was reserved for his successor, Wyke Bayliss, long 
since forgotten. And the Academy elected George H. Boughton, 
his contemporary, G. D. Leslie, another contemporary, and later, 
John S. Sargent, Edwin A. Abbey, Mark Fisher, J. J. Shannon, 
all Americans. These artists, had they wished, could easily have 
elected Whistler. But they did not, and it is to their everlasting 
credit, and to the loss of the Academy upon which he could have 
conferred honour and dignity. Had they made him their second 
American President, it would have vastly increased the Academy's 
prestige in Europe. George Boughton said, however, that he would 
not have elected Whistler president of an East-end boxing club, 
and Sargent never said anything. Facts like these must be recorded 
that timidity shall not prevail. Sargent, during his Academic life, 
has done more for poor artists than almost anybody. But it would 
have added to his renown had he used his great influence in secur- 
ing for Whistler the official rank in England which was Whistler's 
due. As it is, it will be always remembered that while Sargent 
was a distinguished member of the Royal Academy, Whistler was 
kept outside and Rodin was never even represented in its exhibi- 
tions. That Whistler felt the neglect or indifference, there can be 
no doubt, though he was ever ready for a light jest at the expense 
of the Academy. One evening at a Chelsea Arts Club dinner, when 
something was said about the Academy exhibitions, Phil Morris 
reproached him: "But, Whistler, you have sent to the Academy!" 
And Whistler told him, "Yes, I have sent and I have been hung — 
1901] 213 

The Whistler Journal 

and, again, I have sent and I have not been hung. Well, you know, 
the Academy is like an omnibus — you can pay your penny — and 
again if there is no seat for you, you can't." Another story is of 
his lunching at the Cavour in Leicester Square and, not having 
enough money to pay, writing his name on the bill and saying he 
would settle when it was sent him. The waiter looked at his name, 
"But I do not know you," he said. "Dear me!" said Whistler, 
putting up his monocle staring at the waiter, then letting it drop 
in his hand, "you must be an R. A."! 

Whistler laughed at Ruskin as he laughed at the Academy. As 
we wrote in the Life, he laughed away his cares. A Ruskin story 
that we believe has never been printed is of an old lady who met 
him once at dinner and was impressed at meeting an artist — she 
knew little of artists, having always lived in the country, she con- 
fided to him. "But," she added, " I have a cousin who is an artist. 
Perhaps you have heard of him — John Ruskin." Whistler leaned 
over sympathetically and said: "Really, Madam, you must not 
let it distress you too much. We all have our relations of whom 
we are ashamed." 

His management of the International Society is the best proof of 
the distinction he could have given to the Royal Academy. 

Monday, September 16th. A most dreadful moment — Helen and 
I, coming home dt the dinner hour, found the McLure Hamil- 
tons here, and I asked them to stay. Hardly had I asked them 
when a note came from Whistler saying, if I was quite' free "of 
the enemy," he would like to invite himself to dinner. Had to 
write and say "the enemy" were in full force, and wouldn't he 
come tomorrow? 

The McLure Hamiltons were and are our friends, but Whistler 
gave Hamilton a high rank among his "enemies" as he called all 
who ever offended him. The trouble in this case was that Hamil- 
ton, for some unknown reason, after Sheridan Ford broke with 
Whistler, helped Ford in many ways, and even lent him money, 
Whistler believed, to produce his edition of The Gentle Art which 
was dedicated to McLure Hamilton, though Hamilton says he 
refused the dedication when Ford proposed it before the book was 
published. This Whistler never forgave and he told McLure 
Hamilton what he thought of him one evening at the Hogarth 
Club, also in a letter, and they had not met since. E., knowing 
all this, knowing Whistler's feeling, could hardly have let him 

214 [1901 




In the possession of Messrs. Knoedler and Co. 

(See page 200) 

Return From Corsica and Life in England 

come to dinner under the circumstances. It would not have been 
particularly agreeable to any one concerned. Hamilton wrote an 
account of his relations with Sheridan Ford for the Life, where it 
will be found. But one evening, talking the matter over with us, 
he denied more emphatically that he had lent Ford money to 
continue the work and he added a few other details. 

April 28th, IQ05. Ford was introduced to him by John Swan and 
Arthur Melville as an American journalist, rather hard up, to 
whom he might be of use. Ford had begun work on The Gentle Art, 
but was in danger of being turned out of his lodgings and, as the 
Hamiltons were going away they put a part of their house at his 
disposal. Their cook was left behind, vegetables and fruit were 
in the garden, they thought he ought to manage. Ford and his 
wife seem to have had a pleasant time. He overflowed into other 
parts of the house, invited friends, Zorn among them. Ford had 
borrowed fifteen pounds of Hamilton before Whistler raised any 
objection to the work. When the trouble came, Ford wanted 
Hamilton to advance a hundred, which Hamilton refused. Ford 
said if he could not have his hundred, he would tell everybody of 
the first loan and say that it was to help him publish his edition 
of The Gentle Art. "And what do you think of that?" he asked. 
"Good-bye," said Hamilton, "that's what I think of it." If Ford 
carried out his threat, this would explain Whistler's belief that 
Ford was financed by Hamilton. There was bound to be a meeting 
between Whistler and Hamilton, both going to the same shows, 
the same private views, the same artists' receptions, and it came 
at a Grosvenor Gallery function presided over by royalty. Their 
talk was probably animated, for presently Arthur Melville joined 
them and whispered to Hamilton, "That's not the way to talk if 
you want to get on with Whistler." Hamilton laughed and sug- 
gested that it made no special difference if he got on or not. 
Whistler said good-bye amiably, but with a warning — "I warn 
you, don't have anything to do with that fellow Sheridan Ford, 
he'll, well, you know, take your spoons!" It was said that Arthur 
Melville made Ford go with him before a Notary Public and swear 
that Melvirle had lent him no money. 
1901] 215 

The Whistler Journal 

Theodore Roussel claimed that it was he who advised Whistler to 
publish The Gentle Art himself, pay Sheridan Ford, and get rid of 
him. Whistler was living at 21 Cheyne Walk, and he remembers 
coming in one day and finding Whistler and Mrs. Whistler almost 
hidden behind boxes of old papers and letters, sorting and arrang- 
ing them for the book. As with everything concerning Whistler, 
the excitement over the Sheridan Ford episode was tense. Another 
incident in connection Avith it is worth recording. When Sheridan 
Ford's version was printed in Antwerp, the edition was seized by 
Sir George Lewis, then Whistler's solicitor. This always seemed to 
us one of his most remarkable performances. What it seemed to 
him, he once told us. We were, at the time, preparing our defence 
in the case Miss Philip, brought against us and Heinemann in 
her unsuccessful endeavour to prevent our writing and publishing 
the Life of Whistler. One afternoon, as we came out of the office of 
Sir George Radford, our solicitor, in Chancery Lane, 

January ist, 1907, we ran right into Sir George Lewis. He said 
he hoped we were getting on with the book, and he understood we 
were in the hands of the lawyers. He had some letters for us, 
though Whistler always wrote to him in such extravagant terms 
of praise, he was almost ashamed to show them. Of course, 
he had been always glad to do what he could for Whistler, and 
had never charged him, and there was the affair of The Gentle 
Art. Yes, Joseph said, and he had always wanted to know about 
that, how it was done, what it all was. "Why, that," Sir George 
said, "I am afraid was a bit of bounce!" and with that he 
left us. 

Tuesday, September iyth, igoi. A characteristic letter from 
Whistler — he could understand my joyous emotions; if he had 
added to them that was all right — the letter written to Helen — 
and he would come with pleasure. Came with his pocket full of 
Boer clippings. Helen gave him scraps of American history that 
delighted him because of the parallel. He was specially charmed 
with the story of General Marion and the sweet potatoes and begged 
Helen to get it for him. Was in a state of excitement over an article 
in The St. James's by an officer giving a description of the shock- 
ing falling off of discipline in the army to which he, as a West Point 
man, knew that the whole condition of things in South Africa is due. 
2l6 [1901 

Return From Corsica and Life in England 

Thursday, October 3rd. Whistler and the Lungrens. came to dinner. 
Not a very successful evening. It was varnishing day at the 
International, and Lungren was disappointed at the way he had 
been hung, and there was a sort of feeling of restraint over the 
little party. The talk again of the Boers. 

There was difficulty that year in securing a gallery for the Inter- 
national Exhibition. Owing to the death of Admiral Maxse, the 
Skating Rink at Knightsbridge was no longer available. In 1900 
no exhibition had been held. Whistler's idea was that the yearly 
exhibition should be an Art Congress, in which case it was useless 
to compete with the great International Exposition in Paris. As 
the notes have recorded, it was at least proposed that the homeless 
Society should claim the right of artists to Burlington House but 
this was not followed up, and as a last resource, the spring of 1901 
having passed without any exhibition, the Institute was taken 
for the purpose in the autumn. The galleries were smaller than 
those in which the Society had hitherto shown, but lack of space 
could not induce Whistler to overcrowd and litter the walls. 
Decorative balance and effect were as usual respected. He sent 
mostly small works with, for centre, the little Phryne which he 
valued highly, and these were hung in a line with nothing above 
or below, an arrangement which, though he could not say so to 
Whistler, was Lungren's grievance. Why should the number of 
his exhibits have been limited and only a corner found for the few 
hung, when all that space was wasted ? He was indignant, enlarged 
afterwards upon his treatment to E., and that evening, in her 
memory of him, he was silent and sulky. 

Sunday, October 6th. Whistler sent young Teddy Godwin round to 
tell me he has a cold and is in bed, and wouldn't I come to the hotel 
to see him? Went round and had tea with him. My Daily Chron- 
icle notice on the bed. "I suppose you know why I have sent for 
you? You know it is to reproach you for having given the Inter- 
national away? But why! They look to you for everything that 
is charming." "Haven't I said charming things about you?" 
I asked. 'Yes, but why regret Manet and the others? Why make 
so little of Lavery, the Vice President? And why must you always 
drag in that dreadful McLure Hamilton?" I told him to wait 
1901] 217 

The Whistler Journal 

and see what would follow, and he said he had already explained 
to Lavery. 

E. cannot recall what crime she had committed this time in her 
notice of the International. But encounters of the kind were not 
unusual. To please herself, to please her Editor, to please Whistler, 
was not always an easy task. But though Whistler might object, 
she did not find his objection fatal. In her experience he was as 
ready to forgive as to take offence, and the above note reflects the 
gaiety with which he took it on this occasion. 

Tuesday, October 8th. Called on Whistler who is still kept in bed, 
but very gay — approved of my notes in The Daily Chronicle Mon- 
day column and had all the other papers scattered round him 
over the bed. 

Wednesday, October 23rd. Dined alone with Heinemann and 
Whistler. Whistler staying there on his return from Paris, and 
still afraid to go out in the evening, is looking for rooms up in that 
quarter. Rather a colourless evening. 

Thursday, October 31st. Whistler and Fisher Unwin came to dinner. 
Nothing particular to note. Chiefly Boers. 

Saturday, November 2nd. Whistler came in and he stayed on to 
dinner. And then — the long feared meeting. After dinner the 
Lungrens dropped in, and said the McLure Hamiltons, who also 
had been dining at the Cafe Roche, were to follow presently. There 
was nothing to do, but I wanted to run. They came. Introduced 
them. Whistler bowed, said he thought he had heard of Mr. 
McLure Hamilton, and paid no more attention to him, though he 
smiled upon Mrs. Hamilton. What was said, I don't know. I 
was occupied with the fear of what might be said, of what might 
happen. But I have left of the nightmare of an evening an impres- 
sion of McLure Hamilton rather sad, Mrs. Hamilton distinctly 
nervous, Mrs. Lungren speechless, Mr. Lungren helpless, and 
Whistler, through it all, suave and amused. He left fairly early 
and said good-night to everyone but McLure Hamilton. 
218 [1901 



International Exhibition, iqoi 

(See page 217) 

Return From Corsica and Life in England 

This meeting was Whistler's second and last with McLure Hamil- 
ton after the Sheridan Ford episode. Strange meetings were 
always happening in Buckingham Street, or else, being avoided by 
the ingenious system of doors which sometimes allowed "the 
enemy" to foregather in three rooms without any one of them 
being aware of the other's presence. We might say that the rooms 
had been Etty's studio and apartment, and no doubt similar com- 
plications occurred among Academicians in his day, and almost 
certainly in Stanfield's, Humphrey Davey's and Pepys' days ? who, 
all three, lived in the same house. And so, as Whistler would say, 
it was only carrying on tradition. Whistler was popularly sup- 
posed to have no consideration for anybody, to delight rather in 
making everybody uncomfortable. But the way he met "the 
enemy" in our rooms shows how considerate he could be. Nobody 
who did not know the circumstances could have imagined the 
seriousness of the situation to E. The Lungrens were con- 
scious of something and were embarrassed, but never gathered 
that Whistler and Hamilton were not exactly on terms, that the 
occasion was historic in the development of The Gentle Art. Mrs. 
Hamilton, after his death, in referring to an evening as trying to 
her as to any of us, recalled how quiet and dignified he was. We 
always felt, and never hesitated to say to Whistler, that he mis- 
judged Hamilton who had for him and his art a profound appre- 
ciation and respect. In questions of art, no artist was in more 
complete sympathy with Whistler. 

Saturday, November $th. Whistler wrote to ask me to try to come 
and see him at Tallant's Hotel, in North Audley Street, where he 
is now established. A gloomy private hotel, but eminently cor- 
rect. The landlady assured him she entertained royalty and 
nobility. "In this room, sir," as a recommendation, "Lord Ralph 
Kerr died." "But," said Whistler, "I told her what I wanted 
was a room to live in!" He is a little depressed by this correctness, 
the limited supplies and the high prices. I found him in trousers, 
white silk night shirt over them flowing loose, and a dinner jacket! 
Rousseau, w T ho paints cattle, was with him. When he went, 
Whistler got me to dictate to him, while he wrote it, a letter he 
had prepared to his boot-maker in Paris who objected to send, 
unless prepaid, boots to London. "So unfortunate, you know, 
his experience with the Islanders!" Whistler's letter was one of 

his stateliest and he addressed it to M. , " Maitre-Bottier." 

1901] 219 

The Whistler Journal 

Tallant's in Mayfair was not far from Heinemann's house in 
Norfolk Street. In it one was conscious of what Whistler described 
as the " lovely respectability of the British family hotel." This 
autumn Whistler was so extremely worried about his health that 
only occasionally was he in really good form, only occasionally 
did he talk in the old fashion. The Journal from this time on, is 
more than ever the record of his health which it had begun to be 
the year before. 

Wednesday, November ijth. Whistler and the Janviers came to 
dinner. Whistler made a captive of Mrs. Janvier to whom he 
told his story of the Roman cake in Corsica, so that after dinner 
she literally got him in a corner by the fire, while I talked to 
Janvier and Chefdeville who came in with his son. Whistler had 
arrived, to his horror, in a little rain that began suddenly as he 
was on his way here from Charing-Cross Station, and Augustine 
had taken him in the dining room and helped him off with his 
shoes and lent him her slippers which, for fear he might mind, she 
said were Joseph's. And in her slippers, with anything but " dandy" 
feet he spent the rest of the evening. 

Louis Chefdeville was a most interesting French artist who, in the 
early Eighties, took up photo-engraving and made, during his life- 
time, which was a stormy one, some of the most interesting line 
and half-tone blocks ever printed in France and England. He did 
a great deal, especially in England where he lived for years and 
until his death, to advance the art of photo-engraving. 

Thursday, December 3rd. Whistler appeared in the afternoon just 
when Mrs. Mansfield was here to tea. Talked Venice to J. 
whom he now sees for the first time since J.'s return. He has been 
for the last fortnight with the Philips in Tite Street, Chelsea, 
where as he never invites one to come, one hesitates to go. But 
glad to see J. and enthusiastic about his drawings. Thinks the 
St. Mark's most beautiful and immensely interested in the charcoal. 

Mrs. Mansfield is the wife of the man who, we believe, wrote under 
the name of Bowdoin, a life of Whistler which Whistler probably 
never saw. Mrs. Mansfield is an artist: Blanche MacManus. 
"The charcoal" was the new Russian compressed charcoal which 

220 ' [1901 

• • 

/; -^p| ! g^$ | 

?^^ AM 


,' : : 



^y*" ' ... 


(See page 209) 



In the possession of Messrs. Knoedler and Co. 

Return From Corsica and Life in England 

had just been invented. J. was delighted with it and used it for 
his drawings in Marion Crawford's Venetian book — as usual, all 
illustrators at once took to it. 

Saturday, December 5th. Whistler came while we were still at 
lunch and stayed on and lunched with us. He starts for Bath 
this afternoon, and it is time he gets away from London, for he 
looks more tired out than I have seen him yet. Had a book of 
American stories which he read to us, especially one about a motor, 
with such enthusiasm that he left so late he was afraid he would 
lose his train. He explained the American slang — had never heard 
most of it before, but understood it by instinct. 

During these weeks, off and on, he was with his mother-in-law and 
her daughters in their Tite Street house, and when there we were 
never allowed to see him. After his wife's death, he was always 
moving from place to place. It was the same in Paris where, till 
he finally took his last house in Cheyne Walk, he kept his apart- 
ment in the Rue du Bac, his studio in the Rue Notre-Dame-des- 
Champs, slept in the Hotel Chatham, dined in the Passage des 
Panoramas, had his studio in Fitzroy Street, his room at Heine- 
mann's, and, as the notes show, usually dined with us when in 
London. No wonder he described the whole as his "collection of 
chateaux and ■pieds-a-terre." 

At this time he was a sort of lion, though no one but a Frenchman 
is ever a real lion to Frenchmen — he is never one of them — and 
the longer Whistler stayed in Paris, the more he realized it. With 
a few old friends he dined in the Passage des Panoramas, a few 
friends came to the Rue du Bac, but he received no higher official 
recognition than is bestowed upon dry-goods men and soup makers 
by the French Government. For that matter, he received nothing 
officially from England and America — one of the penalties of 
expatriation, if you are an American. All sorts and conditions of 
men and women did their best to get at him, especially Americans 
who haunted the halls of the Hotel Chatham trying to carry him 
off to pink teas and poker parties, or, if he ventured to Lavenue's 
or similar haunts, stood on chairs to see him eat his dinner. As to 
recognizing him really as the master, they did nothing. He had 
no recognition from the National Academy which acknowledged 
all the lesser men — J. was not made a member till after Whistler's 
death. If he had been, things would have been different. He has 
yet no niche in the American Hall of Fame, though half the famous 
1901] 221 

The Whistler Journal 

there are forgotten, and the rest mostly never have had even 
a national notoriety. 

Whistler spent most of the winter of 1901-02 in Bath which, with 
its old-fashioned stateliness and antique shops, amused him. But 
he was too near London to keep away altogether, and we had 
many unexpected visits and meetings. J. gave him introductions 
to some of the officials of Bath whom J. happened to know. 
Though they probably did not understand Whistler, he was as 
delighted with them as with the architecture of which he considered 
them a part. 

Thursday, December igth. An International Meeting held at 
Sauter's. J. arrives and, to his surprise, finds Whistler on the 
door steps. Has come up for the purpose from Bath. He and J. 
stay and dine after the meeting. I come for dinner, and the girl 
Sauter so often paints who is staying with them, and Webb. 
Whistler in splendid form, looking as well as he looked seedy the 
day he lunched with us and said good-bye. Eager to hear all the 
news. Full of the Boers upon whom the talk mostly ran. He left 
early, to spend the night as Webb's guest. 

Friday, December 20th. Both Whistler and Webb came to break- 
fast. Supposed to be half-past nine. Got here at ten to our com- 
plete demoralization, so entirely did it revolutionize our day. 
They had stopped at the Charing-Cross Hotel. Whistler to go 
back to Bath this afternoon. 

These two notes confirm the fact of Whistler's interest in the 
International of which we have written several times. He could 
not keep from the meeting, though he had been in Bath but a 
fortnight. He was always thinking of the welfare of his Society, 
sometimes in most unlooked-for ways. Later in the winter, when 
the Painters in Oil were about to open their exhibition at the 
Institute where the International had been held in the autumn, he 
wrote to E. from Bath to beg her to make the most of the compari- 
son in her notice for The Daily Chronicle. Where was the velarium ? 
where the scientific knowledge, the perfect engineering of the light, 
the exquisite taste? She was to rub it in to the greater glory of the 
International. She hopes now that she did — thinks her article 
this time, anyway, must have been to his liking for she has no 
record of being summoned to receive his reproaches. 

222 [1901 

From Chelsea to the Hague and Back 

We had carried to London the early American hours which 
America no longer keeps. We breakfasted at eight on coffee and 
rolls, and by ten were usually well on in our morning's work. How- 
ever, Augustine was wonderful in these emergencies; the Strand 
with its shops was close at hand; soles, eggs, marmalade and all 
the essentials of an English breakfast had been collected by the 
time Whistler and Webb appeared, and, as Whistler's visits grew 
rarer, we minded less and less any trouble they might put us to. 


Saturday, January 6th, Twelfth Night, IQ02. About six, sudden 
appearance of Whistler. Up from Bath again, Miss Philip having 
to come to see her dentist. With much difficulty we persuaded 
him to stay and dine, sending a telegram to Tite Street. We have 
a galette-au-roi for Twelfth Night and we open our last two bottles 
of champagne in his honour, to make up for a rather poor dinner. 

Champagne was a luxury we indulged in only this once, when 
O.K. sent us a case, and we suppose we never shall have any again. 
thrice and four times happy those who have gone before from a 
world gone maudlin and dry! But galette-au-roi we always ate on 
Twelfth Night because Augustine made us, ordering it from the 
French patissier in Soho who supplied it to all the French colony 
in London. Whistler liked the crisp, flaky French pastry and, if 
we remember, E. in cutting the cake saw that he got the little 
king hidden in it, that brings luck for the year to whoever finds it. 

Friday, January 10th. Dine at Heinemann's. Whistler was there 
— going to stay all night. This sort of weather he can dine nowhere 
where he cannot take his bag and sleep. "Qui dine, dort, ,} he says, 
" Buckingham Street at night, you know, a dangerous, if fascinating 
place." The Mitchells and Elizabeth Robins are the other people. 
He sits far from me, and I see nothing of him except for a few 
minutes after dinner, when I tell him that Augustine has gone to 
France for the event, that she has written and that she worries 
because she knows the Englishwoman I have as substitute will not 
give him the sort of petit diner he likes. "Awful," he says, " her 
1902] 223 

The Whistler Journal 

interest. I am sure It will look like me — what!" This is the 
evening J. first suggests his idea of the Great Art Trust. Heine- 
mann is interested. Thinks he would be willing to put five thou- 
sand in such an enterprise. Whistler is rather noncommittal, but 
quite ready for a meeting to consider the suggestion. 

The Mitchells are the Chalmers Mitchells. Elizabeth Robins is 
not E., though as an authoress, is everlastingly being confounded 
with her. Augustine had gone to France, where the older of her 
two little girls was born, and where she knew she would be for a 
month, and, in her devotion to Whistler, she was afraid he would 
get nothing decent to eat without her. As for the Great Art Trust, 
we have forgotten entirely what J.'s immortal scheme was. It 
probably existed for this one night only. 

Saturday, January 18th. Whistler comes in about six, but he 
won't stay to dinner. "Qui dine, dort," he tells us again, and we 
have no extra bedroom. Reads a magazine most of his visit, and 
is a trifle depressed. "Well — you know, there was a suspicion of 
a cough after I was here the last time." Then, perhaps, he is 
worried because he has received, like Joseph, an official notice of 
his medal at the Paris Exposition, and it speaks only of one. "Do 
you suppose that nonsense of Spielmann's could have had any 
influence?" he asks J. a trifle anxiously. 

Thursday, January 23rd. Whistler comes in late, about six. 
J. not back yet from a C. T. C. Committee meeting. I tell him 
about T. A. Cook whom I had met a few evenings before, and who 
spoke of Whistler as if, at one time, he had seen him often. "I 
do not know him well enough to avoid him." Whistler said. I 
explained, it was in London, and Cook had met him at Charles 
Whibley's. "Oh, there," Whistler said. "I went once, some place 
out in the remote wilderness — you know. The room was thick 
with tobacco smoke and — well — I never went again." He insisted 
he could not stay to dinner, but J. coming back from his meeting 
with Archer White, persuaded him to. There could have been 
no greater contrast than between Whistler and White. White, 
growing friendly during dinner, called him Whistler once — "My 
224 [1902 

From Chelsea to the Hague and Back 

dear Whistler" — and I waited, trembling, to see what would 
happen next. But I noticed, he never forgot the Mr. a second time. 
Something was said of a story recently published about Whistler. 
"One thing occurring in my daily life, I cannot be responsible for," 
he said, "is the daily story told about me." Archer White had 
been lunching with Richmond who was very eager to be made 
Mayor of Kensington. "He ought to be," Whistler said, "it 
would explain the Mosaics at St. Paul's, what?" 
Whistler had been to the Royal Academy and had seen the King- 
ston Lacy Meninas. "Well, you know, it is full of things, only 
Velasquez could. have done. The little heads, perhaps weak, but 
so much, or everything that no one else could have painted just 
like that. And up in a strange place they call the Diploma Gallery 
I saw the Spanish Phillip's copy of Las Meninas, full of atmosphere 
really, and dim understanding." But it seems to me if he had not 
wanted not to agree with D. S. M., who thinks the Kingston 
Lacy picture a copy, he would not have accepted so implicitly the 
evidence of Phillip. He liked too the Dutch picture of the Lady 
Standing at a Spinet, Ochterv eh' s. . . . "Have you seen any criti- 
cism beside D. S. M.'s? I would like to get them all together, and 
write something. But why should I trouble to write?" He told us 
of his offer to MacColl of the Secretaryship to Pulitzer, some years 
ago in Paris. "His duties, you know, would have been to drink 
the best champagne and cognac and to smoke the best cigars, but 
he would have been a slave all the same. It would have saved 
him though from art criticism, or art criticism from him." 
The one redeeming feature of my English dinner — in Augustine's 
absence — was the mince pies. "Ah, well, I like them," and he 
was immensely pleased when we poured lighted brandy over his. 
A good deal of talk of the Boers. But he said little, making Archer 
White, who has been in South Africa, do the talking. A story on 
quite another subject was of the dinner given to him. After every- 
body was seated and before the talk was so loud that nothing could 
be heard, Justin McCarthy came in with Menpes on his arm. 
They passed just behind Whistler to get to their places. "Ha, ha! 
I called out to McCarthy, have you forgotten? Damien died! — 
1902] 225 


The Whistler Journal 

Well, I don't know how it is, but Providence sends me these 

little things." 

One of J.'s many interests in those days was cycling and he was 
still on the Council of the C. T. C, the Cyclists' Touring Club. 
T. A. Cook is Sir Theodore Andrea Cook, who is greatly interested 
in sport and literature, and somewhat in art. He spent a good 
deal of his time in Paris and, we believe, was for a while Pulitzer's 
Secretary there. But, tiring of it, he sought a successor one of 
whose duties, Whistler explained on another occasion, "would be 
the picking up Pulitzer's eyes that had a way of falling out and 
getting lost on the floor." Whistler said that Charles Whibley 
applied for the post and, on being summoned upstairs to the pres- 
ence of the great man, stumbled into a priceless Persian pot and 
smashed it, and this lost him his chance. "So like the British 
Boulvardeer!" said Whistler. This was a propos of Whibley's 
invasion of Paris at that time. 

Archer White is a lawyer who in those years was as enthusiastic 
about cycling as J. His tendency was to be on hail-fellow-well-met 
terms of intimacy at once with everybody, which was something 
that Whistler would not countenance and knew how to put a stop 
to without a word. Nobody ever went further with Whistler 
than Whistler chose, which reminds us of another incident. Some- 
body, repeating to Whistler a story told of him by Chase, began, 
"And Chase said, Jimmie told me — ." "I didn't know he was on 
Jimmie terms with me," Whistler interrupted. 
Whistler was right as to the daily story about him. Never was 
there a man about whom so many stories have been told. It was 
after our book appeared that "the teetotal story" came to us for 
the first time in a version that explains it, for before this it always 
seemed to us rather pointless, that is for Whistler. This version 
we heard from Sir Bryan Donkin who said he heard it when it 
first began to go the rounds in London. Norman Shaw was then 
prominent as an architect, and Dr. Norman Kerr was no less 
prominentas atemperanceman,and itwasthetwoWhistlerwilfully 
confused. He was dining in a big new house in Chelsea built by 
Norman Shaw who was there, and Norman Kerr also was a guest. 
Whistler dined well. Coming downstairs, he slipped and fell. 
"Well, you know," he said, "this comes of dining with these 
damned teetotal architects!" In some way the notion got abroad 
that Whistler drank excessively, he never did, yet we have a 
letter from Major Butt, who went down on the Titanic referring 
to it as a matter of unquestioned fact. It is absolutely untrue. 

226 [1902 

From Chelsea to the Hague and Back 

The "Why drag in Velasquez" story is another that has gone 
through amazing variations, the most amazing, Mrs. Edwin 
Edwards' solemn interpretation of it. She wrote us that conceit 
was Whistler's ruin: "I heard him say in our room before many 
artists, talking of art and artists — ■'// y a moi et Velasquez'!!! 
This is so fearfully dreadful you ought not to mention it." To us, 
it was only fearfully funny. Funnier is the fashion in which Austin 
Dobson mixed it up with Whistler's admiration of Hogarth, which 
Dobson may have considered poaching on his preserves. On his 
seventy-fourth birthday, The Morning Post sent a representative 
to interview him, and inevitably Hogarth came up in the course 
of the interview. "Whistler compared him with Velasquez," 
Dobson said. "That perhaps is exaggerated praise, and in 
any case it is not safe to attach too much importance to 
Whistler's judgments." 

We remember once M. Duret contrasting Whistler with Degas. 
Degas would prepare talk and witticisms beforehand; if he were 
dining, he might wait till dinner was half over before saying any- 
thing, but then when his chance came he would strike with words 
as sharp as a sword and they would go right through you. With 
Whistler, it was spontaneous, the wit of the moment. But many 
people, especially people who never talked to him, declared it to 
be manufactured and not spontaneous, all mannerism and no 
substance. "It's all don't you know with Whistler and nothing 
else," another dealer once said to Ernest Brown. Many examples 
are in the Life and The Journal. A few others we have not yet 
included which to our knowledge have not been published, are 
worth preserving. Mrs. Lynedoch Moncrieff was composing the 
music for some verses of Owen Meredith's. Whistler said he would 
like to illustrate them. She told him they were about the lark. 
"Charming," Whistler said, "but dear me, what can I do when the 
only larks I know anything about are larks on toast?" This 
immediately suggests his telegram to Madame Marchesi. She 
bought from him a small marine and no sooner did she get it home 
than she wired, " Whistler, vous etes le plus grand maitre au monde." 
As promptly he wired back, "Madame, you are the greatest lark 
in the world!" in which she saw only the compliment and showed 
it with pride to her friends, and the story got so contorted that 
"Madame, you are the greatest nightingale in the world," was a 
version of his telegram more usually quoted. Wit of another kind 
was in his advice to a man who couldn't sleep but walked up and 
down all night thinking of his creditors. "Well, you know," said 
Whistler, "better do as I do — let your creditors do the walking up 

1902] 227 

The Whistler Journal 

and down!" As characteristic of a still different mood and manner 
was a story John Alexander used to tell. He was dining at the 
Walter Gays and Whistler was there, though at the other end of 
the table. Alexander was recalling another dinner some years 
before where he met Oscar Wilde. As usual Wilde's talk was 
designed to lead up to carefully prepared witticisms. In the midst 
of it the lady he had taken in to dinner asked, "And how did you 
leave the weather in London, Mr. Wilde?" and that was the end 
of the talk and the witticisms. Alexander had no idea that Whistler 
was listening or even could hear, but, at this point he heard the 
familiar "Ha! ha!" and Whistler leaning over said to him, "Truly 
a most valuable lady!" Another of Alexander's stories should 
have a place. He was in Whistler's studio when Lady Eden was 
sitting for her portrait and was very full of a Turner some Lord 
Somebody wanted her to buy and she was not sure if it was a real 
Turner, or a sham Turner, and wouldn't Whistler come and look 
at it and give her his opinion. "Quite impossible, my dear Lady 
Eden," Whistler regretted, "but, after all, isn't the distinction a 
very subtle one?" 

Monday, January 27th. Just as we are asking each other, about 
six in the afternoon, whether Whistler has gone, or whether any 
minute he may descend upon us, we hear the familiar knock. He 
has come to say good-bye, as he returns to Bath to-morrow. He 
has one piece of news, and he produces an advertisement from the 
Paris N. Y. Herald, sent him by the apprentices. Walter Sickert 
advertises an atelier in the Boulevard Montparnasse. "Now the 
Atelier Carmen has come to an end, rounded out as it should be, 
and was always intended to be, and everything all correct after 
West Point models, then the Walter Sickerts, the followers who, 
when they come after the army, are called bushwhackers, crowd in 
and pick up what they can. No doubt Sickert promises to carry 
things much further than Whistler ever did, and to reveal, as it 
were, all the secrets, all the little things, all the last touches, 
Whistler held in reserve. What?" 

London has tired him again, and he dozed off and on, but talked 
when awake with his usual alertness. He wants to send some old 
silver boxes to the doctor at Marseilles who was attentive, and to 
the curator at Ajaccio whose studio he shared, and, of course, was 
228 [1902 

From Chelsea to the Hague and Back 

going about it in the most elaborate, round-about fashion, asking 
at the P. and O. S. S. office if they would take the parcels out in 
their strong room and have them delivered. The clerk said it 
was unusual, but he would telegraph here, there, and the other 
place to see if it could be done. I suggested that, in the mean- 
while, it would be simpler to go to the American Express people in 
Waterloo Place. 

Something was said about Homer Martin who, we had just been 
told, once painted Whistler's portrait. Whistler said no, he never 
had; as had been said about him, he painted vegetables not animals. 
He delighted in Homer Martin in the old days. He told the story 
of their going together to Sir Thomas Sutherland's, Chairman of 
the P. O. Company, one Sunday evening to have "a bit of supper" 
with him. "There we were, and before supper there he was show- 
ing us his pictures with all solemnity. The walls were covered. 
He came to a Calthorp, above the mantelpiece, a British female 
nude. This, he said slowly and pompously, this is Andromeda. 
Homer Martin looked critically and attentively for a moment: 
And I think very like Ann too." Whistler laughed, as I have 
seldom heard him laugh. Homer Martin's humour was the sort 
to appeal to him. He told again the story of Homer Martin spend- 
ing the night in the house at Chelsea, when Whistler lived there 
with his mother, and in the morning asking for the scissors for his 
cuffs, a story I have already written out. Martin used to dine with 
Albert Moore and some other men at a little French restaurant, 
good of its kind. "And I would go sometimes and look them up 
and sit there talking with them in the evening. But then, you 
know, the sort of Englishman who is entirely outside all these 
things, but likes to think he is in it, began to come too, and that 
ruined it. He never could make anything of Homer Martin, while 
I was perpetually laughing. There was one wonderful evening 
when Martin, fresh from the Dulwich Gallery, grew more and 
more fantastic as everybody looked more and more bewildered. 
Dullrich's Gallery he called it. He knew old Dullrich, nice old 
boy, somehow pictures came to him. People who had them brought 
them down to him, he found them in odd places, they were on his 
1902] 229 

The Whistler Journal 

walls, they overflowed into galleries. Dullrich would come and 
talk to him there, among the pictures, dear old boy. But he got 
old, feeble. He sent for Martin. I'm going, he said, I'm going, 
and he skipped. But there were the pictures and the gallery, and 
any one could see them. This was met with dead silence and 
bewilderment." I fancy half the absurdity was in the way Martin 
told it, as it was certainly in the way Whistler repeated it. "The 
cuff story," Whistler said, "has been twisted round in a version 
I can just trace to its origin. It represents me as staying at Alma- 
Tadema's and as altogether untidy and slovenly. I!! when, if I 
had only an old rag to cover me, I should wear it with such neatness 
and propriety — with the utmost distinction." I told him the story 
of Gosse's horror when he took Homer Martin to the Savile Club, 
where, late in the evening Martin danced a breakdown on the 
dining-room table. "It is just like them at the Savile," he said, 
"they were all really butlers, afraid of the silver and china." 
Talking of a woman novelist he met somewhere, he wasn't sure 
which it was. "I don't think it was Mrs. Humphry Ward. Who 
was it, you know, who dined that evening at Heinemann's? Mary 
Ann Grand, wasn't it?" 

He has been worried lately about the show at the Luxembourg. 
His friend, the Curator at Ajaccio, wrote to Benedite, proposing 
Whistler's etchings and lithographs, and Benedite wrote to 
Whistler that such a show was the desire of his heart. Whistler 
kept putting off answering until there came an irate letter from 
Benedite, saying he must have everything in a couple of months 
or the exhibition would be impossible. Whistler was in despair 
about getting the work together. He consulted Dunthorne, who 
said he would be delighted. Then he came to J., wanting to borrow 
Roullier's catalogue of the Chicago exhibition, which J. refused 
outright. Whistler said he would never speak to J. again — to 
refuse in this emergency! J. suggested Colnaghi, and peace was 
made. Now Whistler tells us the result. MacKay at Colnaghi's 
would do anything. "But, Mr. Whistler, you should have let us 
have these things from the first." "And my answer," Whistler 
said, "was that I have a little way of remembering, and I remember 
230 [1902 

From Chelsea to the Hague and Back 

I took my London etchings to Colnaghi's, and they said they would 
consider the matter. I left the prints, and, after a little, not hear- 
ing, went to ask what they were going to do. We are sorry, but 
we find we cannot do anything, was the answer. They, are not 
exactly the things for us. In fact, they are not dogs by Landseer. 
Ha, ha! I see," said Whistler. 

On the inexhaustible Boer question, he told us that when Mrs. 
Philip, who naturally has no sympathy with his views, talks to 
him on the subject, he tells her, as he told Miss Hensman, "You 
would have made a very good Boer, Ma'am." .A story he repeated 
with delight is of the American girl at the Tower, who, when 
shown a gun the guide said was captured at Bunker Hill, looked 
at it, and then, "Well, you took the gun, but I reckon we kept 
the hill." 

Whistler's knock was as characteristic as everything else about 
him. In London in those days, everybody with a front door, had 
a knocker on it as well as a bell — a bell that pulled and a knocker 
that knocked. Whistler gave two violent thumps with the knocker, 
like the British postman for whose benefit it was there, and then 
gave a violent pull at the bell, and this he always did wherever 
he went. It was a warning and an announcement, more than once 
taken advantage of in getting "the enemies," if they happened to 
be there, out of the way. "Look out for the knock that shall 
announce" he would write to prepare us for his coming, and it 
made its announcement not only to us, but to everyone in the 
Buckingham Street house, from the housekeeper on the ground 
floor to our neighbour on the top. And yet, he would express the 
most innocent surprise at the marvellous detective system by 
which we were kept informed of his visits when, by rare chance, 
he found nobody in our flat, not even Augustine, to open the door. 
In 1901 Whistler, finding he was unable to visit the Academie, 
wrote his classic farewell from Ajaccio to the students and the 
school was closed. Now, new ventures were rising up out of its 
ashes. Of Whistler's followers, these "bushwhackers," Theodore 
Roussel once said to us that they always made him think of the 
soldier to whom Napoleon once spoke. "He spoke to me," he 
bragged in barracks. "What did he say?" his comrades asked. 
"I called 'Halte!' Napoleon said, ' Taisez-vous Imbecile!'" 

1902] 231 

The Whistler Journal 

Sir Thomas Sutherland, successful business man, President of the 
P. and O. Steamship Company, staunch friend to Whistler through 
the bankruptcy, was a typical Briton in his attitude towards art. 
He was interested in Whistler to the end though they seldom met 
in later years. He was willing to tell us all he could of the earlier 
days of their friendship. But in his long talk with E. his attitude 
towards Whistler was one of condescension, of the prosperous man 
of affairs to the artist whose work he does not understand. He 
told E.: — 

November ist, igo6. After he married in 1880, he went less into 
Bohemia, he said, he sold the old furniture, the blue-and-white 
china, the pictures — among them two by Whistler — with which 
his house as bachelor had been filled, and so, of course, was less 
intimate with Whistler. As a bachelor he had gone to the Sunday 
breakfasts — delightful — eccentric — partly American — partly 
French — not much to eat — but Whistler charming and carrying 
it off as if it were a feast. And the dinners were excellent, if 
original — really, he didn't know how Whistler managed them. And 
he went on to explain further that Whistler did not send often to 
regular exhibitions because he was conscious of his weakness and 
did not care to compete with legitimate art — such art as the art 
of Millais. Altogether, he spoke of Whistler amiably, but with 
condescending amiability as if he were an amusing child or an 
eccentric American, and as if it was most kind on his own part 
to be amused: the British attitude, the attitude that hurt 
Whistler, that he had "to laugh away," though he never knew 
it was Sutherland's. 

The reference to Sutherland's collection suggests three other visits 
made by Whistler to great private collections. One day a rich 
amateur collector invited him to go through his gallery. Whistler 
went through it all and never opened his mouth until, at the front 
door, the collectoi got up courage enough to ask him what he 
thought of the collection. "There is no excuse for it," said 
Whistler, and, before the collector could recover, he walked out 
and slammed the door to after him. Another time he was inveigled 
into going to see another collection, and the collector kept hinting, 
as they passed through each room, that he proposed to make a 
232 [1902 

From Chelsea to the Hague and Back 

gift of it after his death. "And to whom do you think I should give 
it, Mr. Whistler?" he asked at last. "To an asylum for the blind," 
was the reply. When he was in The Hague later in 1902, he visited 
Mesdag with the Sauters and Bruckman, a Dutch artist who lives 
in London. In the studio into which Mesdag led them to see his 
own work, Whistler seemed to disappear, while the others went 
from one picture to the next, saying what they could. When they 
reached the last picture, Whistler seemed to reappear, murmuring 
something about a line sky and now should they not be shown 
Mesdag's collection of the Masters? Bruckman, our reporter of 
this occasion, finished the story with the lunch afterwards at the 
Cafe Riche, so good that Whistler summoned the manager to tell 
him so, which is characteristic. As they were leaving, a waiter 
asked Bruckman who the gentleman was, the manager wished to 
know. Bruckman refused to give Whistler's name. The manager 
arrived. He wanted to know only for his own pleasure, he could 
see the gentleman who so well liked his restaurant was one of 
distinction, and he was honoured. Then Bruckman told him. The 
next day The Hague papers published a note to say that the dis- 
tinguished artist Whistler had been lunching at the Cafe Riche 
and had expressed his great approval — a regular puff. 
We do not know what the little restaurant was where Whistler 
went to meet Homer Martin and Albert Moore, perhaps Pagani's 
in the days of its sanded floor and good spaghetti — not the sort of 
stuff Americans devour — and low prices. Both were men Whistler 
sincerely liked, so sincerely that it was a regret to us to hear that, 
though there was no break in the friendship with Homer Martin, 
a coolness sprang up in the end between him and Albert Moore. 
T. R. Way thought this was because Albert Moore criticised The 
Three Girls, and Whistler immediately wiped it out, and could 
never paint it again as well. But Whistler did not object to criti- 
cism from friends, he rubbed out and repainted this canvas many 
times, and it was some years after that Albert Moore was the one 
artist who stood by him in the Ruskin case. A more plausible 
reason we have from Mr. Walter Dowdeswell. At a dinner, old 
Mr. Dowdeswell gave to Albert Moore and Whistler at the Cafe 
Royal, Albert Moore told them that he was painting a group of 
flying figures, and in order to get the right movement in the 
draperies he had used fans and bellows, and this gave his wretched 
model pneumonia, and she died. "Ha! ha!" laughed Whistler, 
"and this is how you make consumption!" Albert Moore flew 
into a temper, and the quarrel could never be patched up. A pity. 
1902] 233 

The Whistler Journal 

Friday, March 28th, IQ02. All this time, we have heard that 
Whistler is in town, but he wishes no one to know it. He is envel- 
oped in mystery — will see no one. He answers no letters. Not 
even Heinemann is admitted. Sauter is once, and there is a visit 
from Whistler to Sauter — to be revealed to no one — when the 
Boer agitation is at its height, because Whistler wants to know how 
things are going and, of course, the subject cannot be mentioned 
in the presence of "the Ladies." At last we write that J. is going 
to Italy and Whistler asks him to come to the studio. He is living 
at Tite Street. J. spends the whole afternoon with him, but does 
not report anything to be specially noted. 

"The Ladies" were his mother-in-law, Mrs. Birnie Philip, and the 
numerous sisters-in-law, always coming and going, fluttering about 
him. After his return from Bath, they literally swallowed him up 
for a few weeks. 

Sunday, April 20th. As Whistler is not going anywhere in the 
evening yet, asked him to lunch with Miss Philip. Not knowing 
until the last minute whether he could come or not, had time only 
to send round for Harrison Rhodes. Whistler in his best form, 
as he so often is when his audience is small and sympathetic. Has 
just moved into Ashbee's house in Cheyne Walk, which he has 
taken for a couple of years. He describes it as "The whole, you 
know, a successful example of the disastrous effect of art upon the 
British middle classes. When I look at the copper front door and 
all the little odd decorative touches throughout the house, I ask 
myself what I am doing there, anyhow? But the studio is fine, 
I have decorated it for myself, gone back to the old scheme of 
grey." Then he got launched, somehow, on West Point and after 
lunch went over the old familiar ground, with that ever fresh 
enthusiasm so marvellous in him, to Rhodes, while Miss Philip 
talked to me. 

Thursday, April 24th. Went with Rhodes to take tea in Whistler's 
studio. No one else but Miss Philip. At first I thought Whistler 
would show nothing, but after a little while he began to bring out 
picture after picture: the portrait^of an American who had written 
234 [1902 


His Reverence 
Showing Whistler Frame Finally Adopted by Him for His Oils 


In the possession of Messrs. Knoedler and Co. 


From Chelsea to the Hague and Back 

to ask if Whistler would paint his portrait in some unusually short 
time. Whistler answered, "Well — I must see you first — and — 
when he came I was so pleased with him, I went right to work." 
It is a small portrait, just the bust — the face, clean-shaven, round, 
ugly but full of shrewd character, typically American. Then, a 
portrait of Miss Philip; a painting of his small model, a beautiful 
nude — just the figure standing on vaguely suggested shore; the 
pastels I have seen. He seemed anxious to impress upon Rhodes, 
above all, the difference between what is "going on" in his studio 
and others nowadays. "In my pictures there is no cleverness, 
no brush-marks, nothing to astonish and bewilder, but simply a 
gradual, more perfect growth of beauty — it is this beauty my 
canvases reveal, not the way it is obtained." 

This was the beginning of the portrait of Richard A. Canfield, 
gambler and Harvard graduate, who spent his time between 
quoting Horace, cleaning out young millionaires, and patronizing 
painters with the proceeds. He was forced to skip from New York, 
and in London he fastened himself on to Whistler and became a 
very good patron, if an odious character. 

Saturday, May ifth. Came back from Paris and arrived home to 
find Whistler waiting for me. He had come just as Augustine was 
starting to meet me and she left him there. My train was late, 
the customs slow, and when we finally got to the flat, he was 
opening the door for the postman. He wore a light overcoat, but 
he was crouching over the fire — the rain had begun and he was sure 
he was catching cold. He came, I think, to talk over the Rodin 
dinner at the Cafe Royal of two nights before. He did not go, he is 
still afraid to venture out in the evening, but he wrote a letter 
which afterwards figured in all the papers. "Rodin was break- 
fasting with me today, and Tweed, the sculptor who has him in 
charge, and Lanteri from South Kensington. It was all very 
charming, Rodin distinguished in every way, the breakfast very 
elegant, but, well, you know, you will understand — but — of course, 
it is something I do not want repeated, for others might not 
understand. Naturally, before they came, I put all my work out 
1902] 235 

The Whistler Journal 

of sight — canvases up against the wall with their backs turned, 
nothing about. But you know never once, not even after break- 
fast, did Rodin ask to see anything. Not that I wanted to show 
him anything, I needn't tell you, but in a man so distinguished it 
seemed a curious want of — well, of what West Point would have 
demanded under the circumstances." I could see he was hurt, 
though had it been a lesser man than Rodin, he would not have 
thought of it twice. "Well, you know, Rodin's head is a trifle 
turned by this sudden enthusiasm. Now he is going down to 
Budapest to superintend, as it were, his own show there." Then 
he told me, what I had not yet heard, the wild excitement at the 
Cafe Royal, afterwards the Slade students taking the horses out 
of the carriage and dragging it, with Tadema inside by Rodin's 
side, and Sargent on the box, to the Arts Club. 
And the rain coming on, he began to worry at finding himself so 
far from home, and Augustine made him a grog, and I lent him 
Joseph's overcoat which he put on over his own, and he went off 
in a four-wheeler. 

Others, besides Whistler, thought Rodin's head a little turned by 
the attention he received in London. He might have stood it 
from artists and students. But society took him up. He usually 
stayed with Lady Warwick or Mrs. Charles Hunter, and he was 
much entertained and lionized. He seemed so pleased at getting 
into society that he allowed the English to treat his sculpture as 
they chose. He was rightly particular about the way his work was 
shown. For instance, he always insisted to J. that his work should 
be placed in the light of nature, en plein air. He carried this out 
in his exhibition in Paris in 1900, and he even wanted later the 
roof taken off the sculpture hall of the New Gallery in Regent 
Street where the International Exhibitions were held. Therefore, 
his acceptance of the British treatment of his Burghers of Calais 
is a proof of how badly his head was turned. The group in his 
studio or in exhibitions, and when finally set up at Calais, was 
placed on a pedestal about a foot or so high, in order that one 
could see the whole composition and the chained feet of the figures. 
But some brilliant genius in England conceived the idea of sticking 
it upon a pedestal copied from the Colleoni in Venice, high in the 
air, so cutting off the feet and ruining the design. MacColl told 
236 [1902 

From Chelsea to the Hague and Back 

us Rodin was delighted with it. Probably the idea was MacColl's. 
The story of Rodin's breakfast with Whistler went the usual rounds 
of everything concerning Whistler, and we had another version 
from Mrs. Simpson, whose husband owns Pellegrini's large, life- 
size caricature of Whistler. In this version, the visit to Whistler 
of Rodin and another sculptor was in Paris. Whistler showed them 
many pictures until the other sculptor said it was time to go to 
breakfast. Rodin felt it an insult to think of breakfast when 
looking at Whistler's work, but he was the sculptor's guest and he 
had to go. The next time he called on Whistler, he was received 
in the drawing-room, Whistler said nothing of work and turned a 
musical box from beginning to end of the visit. A curious medley 
this. That Rodin went on another occasion to see Whistler we 
know — when Whistler's studio was in the Fulham Road, and 
Whistler wrote to Rodin of his pleasure in the visit. Rodin may 
also have gone in Paris, but Whistler's studio there was not near 
his house or flat or drawing-room, though the musical box is most 
likely the gramophone he loved and set going with inexhaustible 
joy for every sympathetic visitor. One record he never tired of 
gave an American quack's patter in praise of a patent drug, 
every sentence ending with "It costs a little more, but what of 
that?" He turned it on one afternoon when the George Vander- 
bilts and Heinemann were in the studio. He and Heinemann were 
to dine with the Vanderbilts at Foyot's that evening. But after 
they had gone and before he left the studio, a note came from Mrs. 
Vanderbilt saying, would he mind if they decided for Voisin's 
instead, finishing, "It costs a little more, but what of that?" 
which, coming from a Vanderbilt, struck him as even more humour- 
ous than in the mouth of the quack. 

Sunday, May 25th. Whistler and Miss Philip, and the Sauters 
to breakfast. Rather a dull occasion. Whistler evidently tired, 
the Sauters as they always are when he is present, subdued, and 
as Miss Philip was with him there was no chance to talk of the 
Boers. He was in a state of indignation with Ashbee. "No 
sooner did I get into the house than building has begun on the 
vacant lot next door. The house is being put up by Ashbee him- 
self who, no doubt, went away to get out of the annoyance. It 
is knock, knock, knock all day long." He was full of the gossip 
that a knighthood for Sargent was to be included among the 
Birthday honours — "also, will not Abbey have to be knighted for 
the Coronation picture ? And what of their American citizenship ? " 
1902] 237 

The Whistler Journal 

On several occasions, including the King's birthday, a whole 
basketful of titles and decorations is emptied out over the most 
unexpected crowd in England. None, however, came Whistler's 
way. There is no question of giving up citizenship. They have 
been showered promiscuously upon, and accepted by American 
officers and business men whom nobody knew, nor what they have 
done, and whose names have never been heard of since. Another 
time, the same rumour about Sargent made Whistler eager 
to know if Sargent had become an Englishman because of 
much temptation? 

Sunday, June ist. Whistler came to lunch to meet Mrs. Whitman 
and Miss Tuckerman. He looked tired out when he came, worse 
than I have seen him look for a long time. The Ashbee business 
has got on his nerves. And no wonder, the knocking goes on all 
day. There are times when in the studio you can't hear yourself 
speak. He told the whole story to Mrs. Whitman and Miss 
Tuckerman — he described the house with its decorations and ex- 
plained the trick he thinks Ashbee has played. He has put the 
matter into the hands of Webb and hopes for legal redress — 
though I don't see that there is any chance of it. But it is evident 
that the constant knocking and indignation with Ashbee are telling 
on his nerves and his health. There was still time for much 
talk about the Boers, and he summed up the whole campaign for 
the benefit of his new audience. 

This house, to which there have been several references, was No. 74 
Cheyne Walk, into which he moved in April. There was no ques- 
tion that his health was failing and that he was beginning to feel 
the discomfort of living in a hotel and of having a studio so far 
from where he lived. But it is incredible in the first place that the 
Ashbee house was chosen for him, and, in the second, that he was 
not urged to leave it as soon as the building operations next door 
began. It had a great deal to do with shortening his life. It was 
a ridiculous place anyway, the studio on the ground floor, which 
was damp, the dining and bed rooms at the top where he had to 
climb to eat and to sleep until the Doctor stopped him. After 
that he slept in a front room on a level with the street — the model's 
dressing room — only one window in it, with panes so small you 
could hardly look out of it — more like a prison cell than a bedroom. 
The whole affair was tragic. 

238 [1902 

From Chelsea to the Hague and Back 

Thursday, June 12th. Whistler came to dinner to meet Harrison 
Morris and his wife. Sauter came too. I thought they would want 
to talk about the International, but the talk was chiefly of the 
Boers. Whistler cannot resist a new and sympathetic audience, 
and the amazing part of it is that, often as I have heard him on the 
subject, I always listen with renewed zest. He began to talk of 
Chase, who is now with the Morrises over here. I felt it was 
right to let him know that Chase was their friend, but I think the 
fact only made him the more anxious to go on. "Well, you know, 
Chase seems to think it necessary to go through the country 
lecturing about me and telling little anecdotes — all at second hand." 
But the Boers monopolized the evening. 

This was the last evening Whistler dined at Buckingham Street. 
Mrs. Morris has kindly sent us, and allowed us to use, the note 
she made of this evening from her point of view. We give it because 
it shows how he impressed people who could understand, especially 
the first time they met him. We had listened with never dimin- 
ishing amusement to his talk about the Boers, but E. had ceased 
to make detailed notes of it and many she did make were used in 
the Life. But it was all fresh to Mrs. Morris and stimulating in 
its freshness. Besides, E.'s notes were usually fullest when he 
dined alone with us. When there was a party she was often too 
preoccupied with others to hear his talk. 

"June 12th, IQ02. I dined with Mr. Whistler at Mrs. Joseph 

Pennell's in London. Mr. Morris and Mr. Sauter were the 

other guests. 

"W 7 histler arrived very late, and kept us waiting for him at every 

course. He had a mustache and small imperial, his lower jaw 

protruded, and his white lock was noticeable. His eyes were grey, 

sharp and bloodshot. 

"He was profoundly conscious of being the only thing in the world 

worth attention, so, as there was no critical influence present, he 

genially expanded. He mumbled, and gave parts of half a dozen 

sentences instead of one clear sentence, in a piercing treble voice. 

"He said, 'The well-meaning person is the worst kind.' 

"He did not allow that a nigger could ever be an equal; said 'he 

1902] 239 

The Whistler Journal 

is something between an ape and a man.' When we told him that 
we associate with them, he spread out his hands, smiling and say- 
ing, 'Well, you know, it depends upon the season of the year!' 
"When he was telling of something unpleasant happening, I 
asked 'Was it in London?' And he instantly shot out the words, 
'Where else?' 

"He spoke of Arthur J. Eddy's knowledge, and I, supposing he 
had forgotten my existence, remarked, 'It's only cleverness.' He 
turned square round upon me, saying impressively, 'Very true. 
When a lady chooses to open her mouth, she always says what's 
true. That is so. It is cleverness.' 

"He said, 'The English employ insolence to cover emptiness.' 
"He called Wm. M. Chase 'an American bounder.' 
"Eddy is more of a gentleman, because he lectured about him as 
an outsider; but Chase lectured about him as an intimate, a con- 
frere, 'while the piano played an accompaniment.' Eddy ought 
to lecture about wine, which he knows about, instead of 'the lost 
art of the beautiful.' 

" Whistler was delighted with Harrison's story of Buller as 'whipped 
cream.' He said, 'The entire English army has been captured.' 
"Whistler was absolutely pro-Boer. He thought the English were 
too dumb and too stuck-up to know when they were beaten and 
when they were ridiculous. Young men who know nothing about 
tactics, are made officers in the field. Their athletic training 
enabled them to run twenty miles away from the Boers. 
"He thought the training at West Point absolutely perfect, but 
in danger of being ruined: because wherever there is perfection, 
decay must begin. As soon as the West-Pointers become conscious 
of their isolation, then the merit of the place is lost, never to return. 
He remembered 'Joe Wheeler' and Professor Coppee there. 
"He thought his country, America, had done some very fine 
things and some very stupid ones. She should have fought with 
the Boers. It would have been courteous to them — but mainly 
the Americans, with very little trouble, would have stuck their 
own cap full of feathers. 
"He was down on American journalism. 
240 [1902 

■ "" 


In the possession of Mrs. Arthur J. Eddy 

From Chelsea to the Hague and Back 

"He considered the preparations for the coronation beneath con- 
tempt; the street decorations so bad that 'a two-year old child 
would not put them on its doll.' 

"When asked of George Moore, he said 'George Moore? George 
Moore does not exist. He died many years ago!' 
"He said 'One cannot be in London without one's lawyer.' When 
asked if he'd have whiskey, he replied, 'Well, if there's nothing 
else, what's one to do?' 

"He sat on my right, and I observed that his profile was like the 
profile in the portrait of his mother. He was small, thin, grey, 
pink-cheeked, with crooked tie, thin ring on little finger, and little 
slippers. When I said I had not seen the famous eye-glass, he 
genially put it on. 

"He said that because Alma-Tadema became an Englishman, the 
English have to protect all the abominable things he did. 
"When I mentioned that I was treasuring some pictures of him 
by Menpes, he expressed incredulity of the whole business, but 
finally said 'I believe there was a sort of person — I mean to say, 
a creature, of that name. But when one allows any one to approach 
him, one naturally supposes that he is a gentleman. Perhaps the 
scoundrel did take the pictures.' 

"As he left, I said, 'I am proud to have met you! and I shall keep 
the Menpes pictures, in spite of you!' which seemed to tickle him." 

Tuesday, June iyth. Tonight dined with Whistler at the Ashbee 
house in Cheyne Walk. Mrs. and Miss Philip there and Mr. 
Freer. We did not sit down till about half past eight, or later and 
dinner was not over much before eleven, although it was quite 
simple. But Whistler had a bottle of special Burgundy which he 
had bought from, of all people, the French barber in Regent Street 
to whom he goes. It was in its cradle and the cork had to be drawn, 
and Mr. Freer had to help, and it was a matter of almost half an 
hour. And then he was showing Mr. Freer his silver and his blue- 
and-white, about which, Mr. Freer, who collects china, knew all 
the correct facts. Mr. Freer, in a shop where they sell antiquities 
lately came across a Chinese bed, a wonderful affair, that had 
1902] 241 

16 • 

The Whistler Journal 

belonged to Whistler. Whistler said he had it in the old Cheyne 
Walk house, but he got interested in other things and for some 
reason, he didn't exactly remember why, he replaced it with some- 
thing else. I wondered whether it was one of the things that went 
at the time of the bankruptcy. After dinner, before the men 
joined us, Miss Philip told me the knocking was something fearful 
and put him in the most violent rage, the thing above all others 
the Doctor cautioned them must be avoided. Mr. Freer drove 
me home. On the way, he told me Whistler had asked him to look 
up his pictures and find out where they were for him. 

We might as well say here that our story, printed in the Life 
about the dinner Whistler gave at the Cafe Royal to which Freer 
came mortally offended him. He not only never would meet us 
afterwards, but he did everything he could to prevent our seeing 
his Whistlers. This kind of opposition was not reserved for us 
alone. He treated Mr. Kennedy, when he was preparing the 
Grolier Catalogue in the same unreasonable fashion. In fact, 
Freer's personal likes and dislikes came near outweighing his 
interest in art and at times did Whistler's memory a good deal of 
harm. Canfield, who, as we have said, Freer introduced to Whistler, 
was not altogether unlike him. Another example of Freer's 
curious prejudices occurred at the first meeting called in London 
at the National Club to devise schemes and raise money for a 
Whistler Memorial. Freer, who had been invited to attend, calmly 
announced that he would either put up the Memorial with his 
own money or it would not go up — the attitude too often of the 
American patron of art. He was promptly told that, though the 
Committee would be glad to accept his money, the monument 
would be designed and erected as they wanted, and not as he 
demanded. Freer, after this, devoted himself to the West Point 
Memorial by St. Gaudens. We might also state that the money 
necessary to erect the Memorial (See Appendix) and the American 
replica was all collected. It was not erected simply because Rodin, 
after the site too had been secured, never finished his work, and 
the scheme which his executor M. Benedite endeavoured to force 
in marble, when a bronze was commissioned, was rejected by the 
Committee as unworthy of Rodin and unworthy of Whistler. 
So much has been said about Whistler's always being late that we 
might give one reason for it, which was that he hated the stupid 
society fashion of breaking up a dinner party in the middle of the 
242 [1902 

From Chelsea to the Hague and Back 

evening. It is rare in this country that people dine at a civilized 
hour. You are asked to dinner at six or seven o'clock. The dinner 
is rushed through as fast as possible, everybody cackling at once. 
There is never any conversation, and as soon as possible the whole 
crowd rush off home or somewhere else. Whistler loved to potter 
about in the studio, to take his time getting dressed, to have his 
dinner never before eight except when he came to us, to sit over it, 
to dominate the talk, then to linger over his coffee and cognac, 
to talk again until he was tired, and this was usually near mid- 
night. It was a civilized and intellectual form of existence which 
has disappeared from the earth. Whistler would dine only with 
people who interested him and who understood him. On the 
rare occasions when he accepted an invitation from those who 
did not, he took advantage of his happy faculty of sleeping, or he 
could be absolutely silent. He would never go again to such a 
house, and indeed he would not be asked. But this seldom hap- 
pened. He never showed off at any time. He never could be made 
to show off. He was simply himself. There was nothing John- 
sonian about him. He never thundered when he wanted to be 
heard. There was just his "Ha! ha!" and everybody stopped 
talking and listened. Often everybody stopped eating too. 
Whistler probably asked Freer to look up his pictures because for 
months he had been worried and annoyed by the disappearance of 
much work from the studio. He had lost things before, but never 
in such numbers. It was doubly annoying when the missing work 
began to reappear for sale in Paris shops or other places where it 
had got without his knowledge. The apprentices had come upon 
many lithographs where he was surprised any should be found, 
paintings had turned up where they had no business to be, and 
"the picture robbery" as he termed it, was on too colossal a scale 
for him to ignore it. The apprentices, then in Paris, were set on 
the track "his brisk and mobile apprentices, his apprentices 
Envoys Extraordinary." A detective was employed. The services 
of Bodington and Alexander, English lawyers in Paris, were 
engaged. It was a moment of incessant messages and letters and 
wires, of cheques sent across the Channel and pictures brought 
back. It was hoped Carmen knew something and Whistler had 
her shadowed, though he must always look upon her with indul- 
gence, he said, and would no more harm her than destroy his Phryne. 
He was always fond of her. She had been his model as a child, 
was still his model in Paris, the model for the beautiful Napolitaine, 
once in the Canfield collection. And she amused him. She never 
really grew up; was always the child. He liked to see her about the 

1902] 243 

The Whistler Journal 

studio, to laugh at her childlike nonsense. He delighted in her 
delight in the Academie Carmen. She was like a big baby through 
it all. When he advanced her two hundred pounds to start the 
school, "the faithful apprentice" went with her to deposit the 
cheque at the Credit Lyonnais where nothing would persuade her 
to endorse it by any name save "Carmen," to the despair of the 
cashier, the irritation of the apprentice, and the amusement of 
Whistler when he heard of it. Then, with her first profits from the 
school, she bought herself a silk gown, strutted up and down in it 
before Whistler, boasted that it was the fashion in the Temple 
where she got it, was so gay that Whistler could but share in her 
gaiety. Most likely he would not have prosecuted her even had he 
suspected her. But he wanted his paintings and prints — one 
painting in particular because it was not finished and he did not 
care to have his unfinished work go before the public. He wanted 
also to learn the truth — to find out how these things had vanished 
from the studio and he thought Carmen might know. She was 
brought to London. "The watchful apprentice" saw her into the 
train in Paris, Miss Draughn, then posing for him, met her in 
London and secured a room for her in the same house. She was 
interviewed by Mr. Webb. But nothing whatever came of it. 
He was no nearer the truth when Carmen started back for Paris, 
and Whistler was more worried than ever when, going to Charing- 
Cross Station to make sure she got off, he discovered her in ani- 
mated talk with a servant who looked after him in the Fitzroy 
Street studio, though there was some consolation in the sort of 
Sherlock Holmes part he found himself playing. The facts, the 
chances are, will never be known. What is certain is that Carmen 
was in possession of an interesting collection of Whistlers. Freer, 
who had her followed to Rome, bought some of them, and they 
are now in the Freer Gallery, Washington. A few months after 
Whistler's death, she sold the others at the Hotel Drouot in Paris, 
together with his letters to her, those concerning the Academie 
Carmen of the utmost interest. Her explanation to the manager 
of the Hotel Drouot was that Whistler gave her the paintings and 
prints, instead of money, in payment of bills he owed her. There 
the matter rests. Some of the missing things were not in her pos- 
session, but we heard from a Paris dealer of their being brought to 
him by servants of Whistler's who also explained that it was thus 
he paid them. All this gave Whistler in London and Bath the same 
anxiety he had gone through in Venice over canvases lost in the 
confusion of the bankruptcy, and he was now less able to bear it. 
Without doubt, the strain told upon his health and had something 

244 [1902 

Portrait of Carmen Rossi 


In the possession of Messrs. Knoedler and Co. 

From Chelsea to the Hague and Back 

to do with his rapidly increasing weakness throughout this winter 
and spring. It was only in his lighter moods he could make a 
jest of his legal adventures, though it was about this period he 
described them to Drouet as u la seule joie qui me reste" 

September ist. Though Miss Philip had told me how very serious 
was the question of the knocking next door, Whistler himself seemed 
in such good spirits and looked so well when I met him a week 
later, that it came as a shock when, just as we were wondering 
why he did not answer J.'s letter announcing his return, we heard 
that he had been sent away because of his health. Then came the 
alarming reports in the papers of his illness at The Hague — then 
the reassuring letter from Miss Philip to me, and letter and tele- 
grams from himself. Now several weeks later, I started for 
Belgium and Holland. 

Friday, September jth. From Amsterdam I took the train to 
The Hague to see Whistler. The Saturday before, thinking I had 
gone straight to Haarlem, he went there with the Sauters, and drove 
to three hotels looking for me. Then on Tuesday in Amsterdam, 
I had a telegram asking me how long I was staying. I answered, 
till Friday. Then I heard no more. Thursday I went off for the 
day to the Island of Marken with the Fraleys. Walking home along 
the Canal from the Dam, I stopped in a shop. I suddenly saw him 
pass in a cab, I rushed out, but the cab had gone. Got to the hotel 
to find he had telegraphed he was coming, had come there at noon, 
and returned about five when the porter said I probably would 
be back. 

At The Hague, found him in lodgings near the Hotel des Indes — 
in what they call in England, a bed-sitting room. Mrs. Whibley 
and Miss Philip in a bedroom adjoining. In the midst of the pack- 
ing, it looked rather comfortless. He was at the table, in the midst 
of bills and cheques, told me he was leaving for England the next 
day. "How could you have gone to the Island of Marken, of all 
places, when I had come to go with you to the Gallery! and Effie 
Deans, and the Rembrandts! Joseph and you are as careful as 
ever. It was the time of all others when you might have helped 
1902] 245 

The Whistler Journal 

me. Joseph did not know what papers had published the Ashbee 
story, but then why didn't he go and see? Heinemann found out 
and sent the papers the next day. It was a little thing I would 
have remembered. Now there is a little thing the other way to 
remember I" He had an engagement with the Doctor and left 
me to lunch with "the Ladies." 

They told me how ill he had been, for a long while it was a question 
if he could get well, even now, the Doctor said he could keep well 
only by the greatest care and constant watchfulness — he mustn't 
walk up many stairs, above all he mustn't have any excitement 1 
and how was that to be prevented? They told me how good Mr. 
Freer had been, staying on with him and giving up all his plans; 
how they were besieged by journalists and it was The N. Y. Herald 
man who had started the report; how the apprentice, Mr. Addams, 
came in the most extraordinary clothes, staying at a most extra- 
ordinary hotel with such a reputation for crime that the police 
had an eye on it, sitting up all night to paint a nocturne, though 
Miss Philip said even she might have told him that was not the 
way the Master worked. Whistler had left his cards on the Boer 
Generals. And then Mrs. Whibley told me how she hurried sud- 
denly from London one day in just the clothes she had on, and how 
she had to pacify Charles by writing constantly that they were 
expecting to return, and how he had come over and she had had to 
conceal him, as though the meeting were most improper, and how 
Whistler seemed to know something was going on and had seen 
Charles at last from the window and had turned upon her — "Oh, 
Bunnie! Middle-aged and stout! It's quite unpardonable!" 
Whistler came in again for a few minutes before keeping his final 
engagement and that was all I saw of him. We were drinking 
whiskey and water with our lunch, for this last day, in the confusion 
of packing, there was nothing else. He saw it at once. "The 
wine of the Island, of course," he said.. I could see that he was in 
one of his most irritable moods. 

E. had gone over to do some galleries for The Daily Chronicle in 
Belgium and Holland. A certain amount of attention had been 

246 [1902 

From Chelsea to the Hague and Back 

drawn in England to Whistler's experience in the Ashbee house, 
to his illness in Holland, to the knocking that was the chief cause 
of it. Some of the papers published articles evidently prepared 
for obituaries, which Whistler, whose mind had not weakened if 
his body had, did not fail to see. It was then he wrote from The 
Hague the often quoted letter to The Morning Post begging that 
"the ready wreath and quick biography might be put back into 
their pigeon-hole for later use," and apologizing for continuing to 
wear his "own hair and eyebrows after distinguished confreres and 
eminent persons have long ceased the habit;" then too that he 
made up for years of ill-will by paying in public gracious and 
generous homage to Swinburne who, however, to the end cherishing 
his resentment, could find no finer praise of Whistler, we have been 
told, than "clever, certainly very clever but a little viper." 
E. has already referred to one of her visits with Whistler to the 
National Gallery after Mrs. Whistler's death. Sauter's visit with 
him to the Hals series at Haarlem is described in the Life. And 
now, his desire was to see with E. in Amsterdam his painting of 
Effie Deans in the Rijks Museum and to study the Hals and the 
Rembrandts there. E. saw the Effie Deans four years later but 
alone. Her note is: 

August 24th., iqo6. An arrangement in grey and gold. A woman 
in long clinging grey skirt and a yellow shawl held tight round her 
shoulders and over her head; her face, the cheeks rose-flushed, is 
seen in profile; her right hand, nervously opened, is raised to it. 
She stands against a grey background. To the right, about mid- 
way in the canvas, is the Butterfly in the same gold and yellow 
as the shawl; to the left, low down, is written with a brush in the 
same colour, "She sunk her head upon her hand and remained 
standing unconscious as a statue. — (The Heart of Mid-Lothian, 
Walter Scott.) " The quotation is a good description of pose and 
feeling, but was it Whistler's writing? The picture seems scarcely 
finished — its charm is great. 

Visits to galleries with him — and he and J. have tramped the 
floors of the National Gallery and the Louvre together many times 
— were extremely interesting but rather sensational as, during the 
years we knew him intimately, the world knew him well by sight. 
After a discussion one evening in Buckingham Street with Timothy 

1902] 247 

The Whistler Journal 

Cole concerning Turner and Claude, the three made an appoint- 
ment to meet the next morning in the National Gallery when, 
Whistler said, he would prove his point. Cole was working in 
the Gallery, perched on his high stool above the people's heads, 
engraving a wood block on his little stand. He came down from 
his perch when Whistler and J. appeared and they went to where 
the Claude and Turners then hung side by side as Turner wished 
they should. The question was of light, of sunset, and Whistler 
pointed out that, as J. noted, 

Turner painted the sun, a great big circle, low down right in the 
middle of the picture, and that if it was there he could not have 
seen anything else or even have looked at it. And yet the picture 
was filled with detail from end to end instead of light, all for the 
benefit of the Islanders; in fact, you could not have seen anything 
at all, the sun would have blinded you. Claude, knowing this, 
veiled his sun in the same place with a thin cloud which enabled 
you to see the sunset without being blinded. And yet neither 
Turner nor Ruskin had the sense to see that the earlier artist 
solved the problem where they only made a mess, the one in his 
painting, the other in his writing. Neither had the bra ns to 
carry on tradition. And then the architecture. Claude painted 
and composed architecture. Turner's architecture would not stand 
up if anybody tried to build it. 

But before this little demonstration was half over — it took only a 
few minutes — it was on the students' day — all the copyists had 
left their easels and gathered round, and as it was not his fashion 
to pose as a perambulating lecturer or docent, or to throw pearls 
to painters, the demonstration came to an untimely end. 

Duret has memories of similar walks through the National Gallery 
and similar talks of Turner and Claude, and no one who ever had 
the privilege of visiting a gallery with Whistler did not come away 
with a clearer conception and understanding of all he had seen. 
A short-hand writer should always have been of the party, and 
it is the world's loss that Whistler never carried out his project of 
a book with the title In the National Gallery with Whistler. The 
idea came from his talks there in the Eighties with Mr. Malcolm 
Salaman, then an art critic and Whistler's ardent supporter. Mr. 
248 [1902 

From Chelsea to the Hague and Back 

Salaman was to record these talks, but the trouble was, Mr. Sala- 
man said, that when he called for Whistler, Whistler would prob- 
ably be off etching the butcher's shop in Chelsea or busy with a 
sitter, and when Whistler called for him he would be at his news- 
paper office, and nothing came of the project save a few odd notes 
of a discussion on Veronese and Tintoretto. 

As to J.'s not sending him the newspaper clippings, we have already 
given an idea of what Whistler sometimes expected and asked and 
demanded. We were ready to do anything for him, as he was for 
us, but there were limits. To have got these clippings would have 
meant one of us going to every newspaper office in London and 
consulting the files of the papers for a week or two. E. did make 
just such a search for him during the Dreyfus affair, in which his 
interest was keen, but he expected it always and we were too busy 
to do it ourselves and we had no secretaries or clerks as, we under- 
stand, the modern literary person and painter have. Whistler, 
in these years, usually had a secretary, and he had also "the 
Ladies" to attend to these things for him. But, somehow, he 
rarely asked them. Heinemann, however, had a large staff and 
Whistler's commissions gave them something useful to do, and 
Heinemann would let them do it. But what we wish to point out 
is, that there was this side to Whistler and that, if you accepted 
it and let him get into the habit of using you, you had to keep it 
up always. J. made him understand from the beginning that our 
friendship with him did not run to our following, fetching, carrying, 
collecting for him. Occasionally Whistler forgot, and occasionally 
there were scenes, as there was that morning at The Hague, but 
they were never serious. Other people were willing to fetch and 
to carry, but gradually they rebelled, and, with the first sign of 
rebellion, they were dropped, and this was the cause of a good 
many rows. As Mr. Walter Dowdeswell said once to J., "Whistler 
needed somebody always in attendance, somebody to butter his 
toast and black his boots — but that was the end of somebody as 
a friend." 

The reference to the Boer Generals reminds E. that some of them 
were then in The Hague and that the feeling throughout Holland 
against England was bitter. Whistler arranged for "the Ladies" 
to drive her to the station by the longest and most roundabout 
way so as to show her the beauties of the Bosch, and as they drove 
along the beautiful roads, patriotic youths of The Hague, seeing 
them and taking them all three for hated Englanders picked up 
and threw great handfuls of gravel at them as they passed, which 
shows how strong the feeling was. 

1902] 249 


Thursday, September 18th, 1902. Not hearing from Whistler, went 
out to Cheyne Walk to ask after him. Found he had been ill, 
and was still in his room. He sent for me to come up. His room 
is at the top of the Ashbee house, where the window might look 
out anywhere but on the river, so little can be seen from the "artis- 
tic" place found for it. Whistler on the lounge. His Empire bed 
at the other end of the room, and the few things in the room beau- 
tiful of their kind — -he in a white silk night shirt and a black coat 
over it. Some one had just sent him a New York Times Saturday 
Review with a notice of Sir Wyke Bayliss' recent book, a review 
which, as he said, showed a sense of things. It certainly was 
written by some one who knew Whistler and all about the British 
Artists. He thought it might be Julian Hawthorne. He seemed 
tired, the reading of the notice used up the little energy he had, 
and I only stayed about half an hour. 

Anybody who knows anything of Whistler knows that Sir Wyke 
Bayliss succeeded him as President of the British Artists — a 
President as colourless as his own water-colours. The book was 
Olives, a feeble production which, if it lives, will be because the 
author chances to be immortalized in The Gentle Art. 

Tuesday, September 2yd. Called again, and found Whistler 
moved down to the room adjoining the studio, the Doctor thinking, 
if he was strong enough to get about, the stairs would be bad for 
him. He was in the Empire bed, in his silk night shirt with a 
little knitted shawl over his shoulders, a counterpane embroidered 
in gold covering him, and curled up close to him a little purring 
kitten, white and brown and gold, in harmony with the counter- 
pane. Whistler didn't seem as well, he said he had the "jumps" 
and I only saw him for a few minutes. When I asked him if I 
could do anything, he said, "Well you know what you can do, but 
you won't do it"; this being to "go" for Ashbee, Menpes, Wyke 
Bayliss and the others of the "enemy" generally. He doesn't 
250 [1902 

The Invalid in the Studio 

hear the knocking so much downstairs, but he says Ashbee should 
be hounded out of the Guild and everything he belongs to, and 
Joseph ought to be here to see that he is! 

The Guild is the Art Workers' Guild to which nearly all the dis- 
tinguished artists then in London belonged, or were honorary 
members — except Whistler. J. was an ordinary member, Sargent 
and Cole were honorary members. The Guild gave lectures and 
discussions on Whistler's work, never on the work of the others, 
but still he did not belong. Twice Way talked of Whistler's litho- 
graphs, the early ones. On one of these occasions he showed for 
the first time on the walls what Whistler had done in Lithography 
and brought two of the stones — The Long Bridge and a figure 
subject — and a press, and, without Whistler's knowledge, printed 
them on it and distributed the prints he pulled to the members. 
The appreciation of these prints was so great that they were 
promptly thrown on the floor or used to light pipes, a most genuine 
expression of British appreciation of Whistler's art at that time. 
It was about 1894 or 1895. 

What William Morris, long Master of the Guild, thought of 
Whistler, J. learned at one of the meetings some years after 
Whistler's death. The talk was on William Blake, a show of whose 
work had just opened at the Tate Gallery. In the course of the 
evening a story was told of William Morris who had objected when 
Whistler once was called an artist, saying that he wasn't. Some- 
body in the company could not agree, declaring that Whistler was 
a painter. "Any fool can see that Whistler was a great painter," 
said Morris. Any fool might think that a great painter must be 
an artist. 

Monday, September 29th. Called on Mrs. Whistler to-day, as she 
asked. She had written to say she would be only too glad to give 
us any information she could about Whistler and help in any way. 
I explained that for the moment, owing to Whistler's illness, 
nothing was being done about the book but that we were collecting 
material. She was rather wandering in her reminiscences, dwelling 
particularly on Mrs. Whistler's illness, but I gathered some facts. 
In the first place she gave me a paper with a few dates she copied 
from notes made by the Doctor for an Encyclopedia. The Doctor, 
unfortunately, had just before he married her, destroyed all his 
letters, including Jimmie's, these covering the early years in Paris, 
1902] 251 

The Whistler Journal 

and letters too from Swinburne, Rossetti, and others of the group. 
Her letters were of recent years and she would not care to show 
them without consulting him. He was strictly and religiously 
brought up by his mother. Once when Mrs. Dr. Whistler, who 
loved the country, succeeded in dragging the Doctor who didn't 
love it, there with her, and was telling him how beautiful it was, 
he said it was just "like Saturday afternoon." When she asked 
him what he meant, he told her that when he and Jimmie were 
boys, on Saturday afternoon their mother washed their heads, 
overhauled their clothes and themselves generally, put away their 
toys and books, and prepared them for Sunday, when they were 
taken to church three times. She was very pious, and would like 
to have had one of her sons a parson. Jimmie was her favourite, 
though she was never quite in sympathy with him or his work. 
When she lived with him in Chelsea, it was a succession of shocks — 
once she came up to the studio to find the parlour maid standing 
to him for the nude. Jimmie was devoted. When she was ill he 
could not, as he never could, stand the sight of illness. She was 
taken down to Hastings to live — toward the end, as at one or two 
intervals before, her mind wandered. There was one melancholy 
week, when Jimmie and Mrs. Dr. Whistler were the only two of 
the family there with her. A nurse was in charge, and they used 
to go on long tramps, the only thing they could do. There was a 
particularly melancholy afternoon, windy and wet, when they were 
up on the cliffs together, and Jimmie was taking himself to task 
for not having been kind and considerate enough — he had not 
written as often as he should from Venice — he fairly cried with 
remorse. "It would have been better," he said, "had I been 
a parson!" 

Mrs. Whistler knew little of the Paris days, but the Chelsea days, 
she said, were delightful. She and the Doctor went to his Sunday 
morning breakfasts, and brought their silver because he hadn't 
enough. Jimmie's man appropriated some of it, it was not marked 
and the design was a very usual one, the King's pattern. He 
replaced it with plated things and she never discovered it till later 
on. Then Godwin built the house for Whistler, and Godwin had 
252 [1902 

The Invalid in the Studio 

a way of always making his estimates lower than the actual 
expenses, and then siding entirely with the builders in case of 
disagreements and misunderstandings. That was the way the 
crash came. The woman who was living with him then — "Morals 
never were of any account," the Doctor used to say — went to 
Venice with him. It was she who later on made things so unpleas- 
ant by living in Paris when the Whistlers were at the Rue du Bac 
and calling herself Mrs. Whistler. "Trixie" felt it awfully, for 
she always was extremely jealous of Whistler's past. Then came 
the long story of Mrs. Whistler's illness, gone over again and again, 
the misery of Whistler, unwilling to admit it, his putting the case 
in the hands of some obscure French doctor, whom the Doctor 
just stopped from performing the operation, his indignation with 
the Doctor for not believing she could recover, and with herself 
for having, he said, told people it was cancer. This was the cause 
of the fight with the Doctor. In his indignation at the moment, 
Mrs. Wliistler regretted, he never thought that in giving way to 
it he might be losing a friend, and the Doctor was the best friend 
he ever had. Whistler was so furious that he never let them know 
of Mrs. Whistler's death. They were dining at the Savoy and they 
heard it from friends they met there by chance. The quarrel 
preyed so on the Doctor's mind that it drove him into the "unfor- 
tunate habits" that were really the cause of his death. When he 
was ill, however, and she went round to the studio, Jimmie came 
at once. The Doctor told her then one of the valves of Whistler's 
heart was affected but that there was no reason why he should 
not outlive him, the Doctor. 

The Valparaiso trip was, as far as she knew, taken just for pleasure, 
though she had no doubt that many things were left in confusion 
behind. He had always flung his money away — such extravagance 
— it was spent and wasted by the women who were always about 
him. Coming back from Valparaiso, he was kept not in irons, but 
in his stateroom from the time he took the "nigger" he found in 
his stateroom and knocked his head against the smoke stack; the 
story Whistler told us. At the time of Lady Haden's engagement, 
Whistler, then a boy of about twelve, came with his father to Eng- 
1902] 253 

The Whistler Journal 

land. After seeing Haden for the first time, Whistler's remark to 
his father was, "He's just like a schoolmaster, isn't he!' 

Mrs. Whistler, whom E. went to see was Mrs. Dr. William Whistler, 
Whistler's sister-in-law. The Mrs. Whistler to whom she referred 
was, of course, Whistler's wife. It was Maud Franklin who joined 
him in Venice, who returned with him to London, and who, as we 
have said, signed herself at that time Maud Whistler. 
For some few years Whistler and his brother did not see each other, 
a grief to both. The Doctor had always been Whistler's truest 
friend; the Doctor's house in Wimpole Street was his home when 
he was ill or weary. This was their first serious difference. How- 
ever, three years or so before the Doctor's death, when he was in 
money difficulties, Whistler, through Lady Haden, came to his aid. 
"It is Jimmie all over," the Doctor told his sister, "generous and 
open-handed as I have always known him," and he went on to 
say that often he remembered Whistler giving to others what he 
had not himself, "the pluckiest fighter against odds and the most 
splendid worker that I have ever known." This generous side of 
Whistler is the one least often dwelt upon, and two other instances 
might be added that we do not think have ever got into print. One 
we have from Mr. Alan S. Cole. In Paris an Englishman, a con- 
firmed morphomaniac, when he was absolutely penniless came 
begging to Whistler who, though Mr. Cole told him the truth, 
lodged the man in a decent hotel, the St. Romain we believe, 
clothed and fed him until at last the hopelessness of the case could 
no longer be denied and he had to be sent to some sort of home or 
sanatarium. The other instance, from Mrs. Addams, was of a 
student at the Academie Carmen, a girl whose father allowed her 
fifteen shillings a week to live on, though her brother was sent to 
Eton — a distinction between sons and daughters then not uncom- 
mon in England. She shared rooms with two other students, all 
three existing in the utmost poverty. Whistler, learning this, 
would send her things to eat by Carmen, sometimes would even 
send her gloves, seeing she had none; he had, by accident, just 
come upon gloves that he thought would suit her, was his message. 
Of his thoughtfulness for children many instances are in the Life. 
Of his little models, waifs and strays from the streets, he was ever 
careful. If he could not come to the studio at the hour appointed 
for them, he would notify the housekeeper at Fitzroy Street and 
beg her to let them wait in the kitchen where it was warm. This 
was the real W T histler, not the Whistler the world thought it knew. 
His consideration for servants was as great, though they were not 
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The Invalid in the Studio 

invariably as considerate in return. To one or two robberies in 
the studio were traced, while in the Lindsey Row days, an amazing 
Mrs. Cozzens, who presided over his kitchen, repaid his kindness 
by drinking like a fish. He quoted Watts-Dunton as saying he 
always liked her best when she was very drunk, and Lord Redesdale 
had a funny story of her, in a state of collapse in the hall one 
evening when he came in late with Whistler, but with her wits 
enough about her to look up and smile upon them — "I-sh-shtaking 
care of the house for you," she said to Whistler, so that afterwards 
it got to be a saying with them that anybody who was drunk was 
taking care of the house for them. 

Wednesday, October ist. Went to call on Whistler in the afternoon. 
He was not ready to see me, and I sat upstairs for about half an 
hour with Mrs. Philip. When he sent for me, told me he had got 
up especially to receive me. Tea was brought in, but he dozed 
off almost at once, and I had not more than a dozen words with 
him before it was time for me to keep my engagement to take tea 
with Mr. Landor. Whistler struck me as weaker than when I 
last saw him. 

During this last illness, Whistler was so weak on certain days that 
he hardly opened his mouth. 

Monday, October 13th. Called on Whistler late in the afternoon 
after almost two weeks, but had not been able to get there sooner, 
because, in the meanwhile, J. has come home from Spain, very 
seedy. Found Whistler lying on a long steamer chair, but in the 
studio, which seemed an improvement. He wanted to know all 
about Joseph. "Well, you know, he must see a Doctor," he said, 
and when I said he wouldn't, he told me, "It is your duty to send 
for one without saying anything to Joseph about it until the Doctor 
appears on the scene." "But imagine," I told him, "Joseph's 
indignation with me for doing such a thing without consulting 
him." "No," Whistler said, "it will be just as it was with me. 
When they wanted to bring in a doctor to see me, I declared I 
wouldn't, but once they brought him without telling me. I just 
clung to him and have clung ever since. Tell Joseph that." Miss 
Philip left the studio, and no sooner had she gone than he promptly 
1902] 255 

The Whistler Journal 

fell asleep, the cat curled up sleeping at his feet. And though Miss 
Philip came back and we had tea, he never woke up until just as 
I was going and Sauter came in to see him. 

Sunday, October igth. Coll Cooper and his wife, who to-day turned 
up unexpectedly, lunched with us. They talked a good deal of the 
Academie Carmen in Paris, "the Whistler School," of course they 
called it, as everybody does. They seemed under the impression 
that Whistler had made a good thing of it; the charge was fifty 
francs a month; no one was admitted for less than a quarter, and 
then he never came. He had written a most wonderful letter when 
the school came to an end. Cooper couldn't remember it, so as to 
do it justice, but it was very wonderful. And Addams, the appren- 
tice, had called all the students together, made them take their 
hats off, and then read it to them with great solemnity. It was 
extraordinary, Cooper said, how all the students who had been 
at the school and once understood Whistler's methods, never 
gave them up afterward. He did not think Whistler a good 
master for this very reason, he impressed himself too strongly on 
his students. 

"Coll" Cooper is Mr. Colin Campbell Cooper, and his wife, Emma 
Lambert Cooper. He was, all unconsciously, stating Whistler's 
theory of teaching, which was to carry on the old tradition of 
teaching — the master should teach the pupils to draw and to paint 
in his way, they should learn all he knew from him by precept and 
practise, and then they should either be able to help him in his 
work, as the pupils of the Old Masters did, or, having learned all 
they could, start out and do something for themselves. As he 
often said, he could teach anybody to draw or to paint in his way, 
and that was exactly what the Old Masters had done, but, after 
they had been taught, God Almighty alone could make them artists. 
Students went to him, however, because they thought he would 
turn them into artists like himself immediately, ignoring the fact 
that his position came from the knowledge and experience of a 
lifetime, and that, besides, God Almighty had made him an 
artist. His is the only way that art can be taught, but in this age 
of getting art quick, nobody is taught. The pupils get a smattering, 
and they get nowhere. As for the financial side of the school, 
256 [1902 

The Invalid in the Studio 

Whistler not only never made anything out of it, but he was careful 
to see that Carmen did not make too much. Mrs. Addams told 
us that Carmen began by asking the women twice as much as the 
men, and there were weeks when Mrs. Addams paid her more than 
a thousand francs. She asked the women one hundred francs a 
month. But when Whistler heard, he would not have it. 

Monday, October 20th. Called on Whistler. Nobody else there 
but his model who was just leaving, a Miss Seton, who was rolling 
up her reddish hair when I came in. "Most people think she isn't 
pretty," Whistler said, "but I find hers a remarkable face. It 
reminds me of Hogarth's Shrimp Girl in the National Gallery." 
He had been working, but only a very little. He did not seem 
able to get back to it again. He showed me a sketch of her head, 
against a grey-green background, on a tiny panel. He had been 
pottering about looking at accumulations from the Paris studio 
and had found many charming things, he said, and he showed me a 
delicate little study in quiet greys of a house front somewhere in 
Touraine, just the doorway and a little window with balcony 
above it. Then tea came in and I gave Miss Seton tea, and he 
got up and emptied the stale milk out of the cat's saucer and gave 
it some of the fresh from the jug on the tea tray. I told him 
Harrison Morris was anxious to have something for this winter's 
show — "The man who took up with the nigger?" was his only 
answer. He seemed uncertain if Joseph ought to come and see him. 
"What if there are microbes hanging about him? I can't have 
any more microbes — I have had enough of them. And why have 
you been so kind to the British Artists? Isn't it time to rub in 
something about their President's book? And if you have seen 
Strang, did you impress it upon him that it is his duty to see that 
Ashbee is hounded out of the Art Workers?" I couldn't tell him 
that when Strang told Ashbee what he thought of the whole per- 
formance, Ashbee was abusive and said he would turn Whistler, 
who wasn't paying his rent, out of the house, if he were not so ill. 
Whistler is still wearing his extraordinary costume and. as he 
walked about, he looked so old and feeble and forlorn, that I hated 
to leave him there in the studio alone. 

1902] 257 


The Whistler Journal 

When his strength permitted that winter, he went through his 
canvases and prints, sorting and destroying — preparing for the end, 
though we doubt if he permitted himself to think that the end was 
within sight — he shrank from the thought of death — so much was 
still to be done and he was just beginning to understand. Lavery 
got the same impression one day when he found the big canvases 
in the studio stacked near Whistler, their backs turned, and the 
fire-place full of ashes. He had been burning things Whistler said, 
"To destroy is to exist, you know." He had a bad turn while 
Lavery was with him and Lavery helped him to the bed — he could 
hardly get his breath. When he sat up again, he drew his hand 
across his back and said almost like a child, "I don't like this at 
all Lavery, not at all," and Lavery thought he had begun to realize 
the seriousness of his illness and was trying to put things in order. 
Whistler's care for his little cat reminds us that he was as tender 
with animals as with children. To our William Penn he was 
charming. William had a reprehensible habit, when we were alone 
at dinner, of sitting at table with us under the rose-shaded lamp. 
He gradually became so used to seeing Whistler at dinner that he 
forgot his manners and jumped up all the same, and Whistler never 
objected. On the contrary, he even complimented William, sitting 
there so straight with his tail curled round his paws and the 
inscrutable look in his eyes: "William, you are really very beau- 
tiful." William Penn died the winter he was at the Hotel Chatham 
and he sent E. a special word of sympathy. He was so distressed 
about poor William, he said. He was long haunted by the tragedy 
of a green parrot in the Rue du Bac. The parrot did not like him 
and one day, when Whistler was trying to make it say all the things 
it said willingly for Carmen and never for him, it lost its temper, 
flew to the top of a tree in the garden, and then refused to come 
down, dying gradually of starvation, falling to the ground, a lean 
little corpse. Its death depressed Whistler for days. He felt that 
he was the all unwilling cause of it. 

Monday, October 27th. Called on Whistler in the afternoon. Found 
Miss Philip there, the model just going, but he didn't know how 
it was, he couldn't work any more. A sketch of her head, with 
her hair falling on her shoulders just started on an oval canvas on 
one of the easels. He was exercised by a letter from Mr. Freer, 
enclosing copies of letters from Mrs. Arthur Bell to Mr. Freer and 
Mr. Freer's answer. Mrs. Bell wrote to say she had been commis- 
sioned by Messrs. Bell to write a book about Whistler: the most 
258 [1902 

The Invalid in the Studio 

important monograph on him yet published; and to ask if Mr 
Freer would allow her to reproduce some of his pictures for it and 
could tell her where photographs of others were to be had. Mr. 
Freer answered, with a politeness not unworthy of Whistler's West 
Point standards, to acknowledge the letter and to say he made it 
a rule never to allow pictures in his possession, when the artist was 
still living, to be reproduced without the artist's permission. He 
would therefore refer Mrs. Bell to Mr. Whistler himself, and for 
other photographs and material to dealers in London — he might 
name Mr. Marchant of the Goupil Gallery. Whistler was in a 
state of wrath .and uncertain what he could do. Already, before 
he went to The Hague, he had received a letter from Bernhard 
or Oswald Sickert saying he did not see why his relations to Whistler 
should be disturbed by the fact of any difference between Whistler 
and his brother Walter. He had been commissioned by Messrs. 
Bell to write a book about Whistler for one of their series, and was 
now writing to ask Whistler's assistance. "And I never answered 
the letter. And now comes this Mrs. Bell. And what redress is 
there?" I told him I was sure there was none as far as the book 
was concerned — he couldn't stop anyone writing about him — his 
only chance was if any of his letters were used without his author- 
ity, or any of his pictures, of which he held the copyright, repro- 
duced without his permission. He said, "That is just what 
Heinemann told me about a book published in America last winter. 
What can I do ? I might write one of my letters to the Bells, saying 
I have just heard through Mr. Freer of the proposed book — the 
honour they are prepared to do me — that I am much astonished, 
though no doubt they have written and the letter has not reached 
me — that I must ask them to submit Mrs. Bell's manuscript to me. 
If they refuse, why then I can write to papers like The Times and 
The Athenaeum to say that the book was entirely unauthorized 
by me and published without my approval or consent. What?" 
The whole affair seems to worry him, he was restless, complained 
of pains in his back, and could talk only of the insolence of doing a 
thing of this kind without the slightest reference to him and his 
wishes. Miss Philip, coming to the door with me, told me it had 
1902] 259 

The Whistler Journal 

upset him completely. It was the more provoking because when 
Mr. Freer's letter came, he was delighted and sent up for her to 
come and open it with him to enjoy it the more. He was too 
nervous for me to refer to the book we were asked to do by Heine- 
mann. I only said it was a pity, since so many people seemed to 
be doing it, that he did not see that the book was at once done by 
the people he cared to have do it. 

Tuesday, October 28th. I called to-day on Heinemann, for it seemed 
to us both, in talking the matter over, that if Mrs. Bell's sheets 
of manuscript were sent to Whistler and he happened to be in the 
humour to like what she said, he might not only revise them, but 
give her material and his approval both, and so put an end to our 
book forever. Heinemann told me that one of the Bells called on 
him this morning about it, came to ask for the Connie Gilchrist, the 
copyright of which belongs to Heinemann, and anything else 
Heinemann might have. Heinemann told him the whole scheme 
was absurd, that Mrs. Bell didn't know anything about Whistler 
and couldn't write anything about his work of the least importance, 
that Whistler would object seriously, that material had been col- 
lected for some time past and was all in our hands. Then he showed 
Bell the photographs he had got together for our book — Whistler 
having let him photograph things from time to time. And imme- 
diately Bell asked him why he couldn't have them for the Mrs. 
Bell book. And Heinemann refused to let him have anything at all. 
The thing to do, Heinemann said, was to get Whistler's consent 
to go on with the immediate publication of our book, that the 
moment was difficult because to urge the matter might make him 
think we were preparing to write his obituary. But he could 
represent that, in view of all these attempts, and of what Menpes 
and Sickert and others were no doubt preparing to do, it would be 
a great deal better to have the book done as he wanted it done, 
just as Sargent had been bothered so often to have his pictures 
photographed that, in self defense, he consented to Heinemann's 
making a book about him. Miss Philip had just called, she went 
out as I came, to ask him to go down to see Whistler tomorrow 
260 [1902 

The Invalid in the Studio 

afternoon at six. No doubt, it was about the Bell book. He would 
go, and come to us afterwards to dinner, so we could talk it all over. 

Wednesday, October 2Qth. Heinemann came to us to dinner, 
straight from Whistler, whom he found still in his extraordinary- 
costume, but gayer and more like himself than he has been for 
months, having managed really to get to work. He was surrounded 
by sheets of foolscap, preparing a letter to Bell. Heinemann 
persuaded him to write simply that he disapproved of the scheme 
and begged that it would be abandoned. Otherwise, he would 
have to state the circumstances and his disapproval in Tke Times. 
Heinemann told him that in Paris he managed to stave off Duret 
who, it seems, is writing a book too, which also is not approved 
of by Whistler. Duret won't give it up, feels that he must write it 
(and we can't help feeling that it would be interesting, Duret 
knowing so much of the early years in Paris) but the publisher 
has given it up. Then Heinemann suggested that Whistler in 
self defense should allow him to announce our book which would 
put a stop to all these others. But Whistler turned upon him and 
said that he came like a Bismarck or a Machiavelli, demolishing 
other people's schemes that he might carry through his own. After 
that, Heinemann could not well say anything more on the subject. 
And so, the matter rests. In referring to Bell's visit he told rather 
a different story from the one he told me yesterday. He said he 
told Bell that he, Bell, could use anything if he could get 
Whistler's permission. 

All this time, Whi.stler could not bear to talk about our book. 
As he had already told us, we were trying to make an Old Master 
of him before his time. His nervousness about himself is beyond 
belief and, much as we then wanted to go on, it was absolutely 
useless to discuss the matter. Duret, who is Theodore Duret, did 
not bring out his book until after Whistler's death. It has gone 
into a second edition and has been translated into English. 
Whistler's "extraordinary costume" this winter was an old brown 
fur-lined overcoat which reached to his heels and was always well 
buttoned up. That he should wear it, be willing to be seen in it, 
seemed one of the worst signs of all, though when he was ill or 
1902] 261 

The Whistler Journal 

depressed he did many astonishing things at times. We remember 
once when he appeared wearing one black shoe and one yellow, 
and his explanation was that he had a corn. Up till now his cos- 
tume for the sick room had been his white silk night shirt over 
black trousers and his little black coat, in which E. mentions having 
seen him on several occasions, and which Mrs. Dr. Whistler said 
he wore whenever he went to Wimpole Street to be nursed by his 
brother. The brown overcoat, as we look back to it, seems to 
mark a distinct progress in his illness. 

Thursday, October 30th. J. went down to-day to see Whistler, 
found him fairly well, but so many people coming and going had 
no chance to talk. 

Saturday, November 8th. To Whistler's late in the afternoon. 
Mrs. Whibley there, and the household more or less upset because 
of the departure of the Dutch girl — Whistler giving Mrs. Whibley 
directions in German as to the remarks she should make. He 
wanted to know all about the New English, and was delighted to 
know that the Baronet this time was skied — "Can't be buying 
any more — what?" I told him of Mrs. MacMonnies' huge open- 
air portrait of a child in a perambulator. "Oh yes, a blue baby 
with purple shadows sort of thing, isn't it?" Asked about the 
critics and was disappointed because I had seen no one but Rinder 
of whom he never heard before: "Rinder-pest, was it?" Alto- 
gether he was in better form than I have seen him, and looked in 
better form for he was dressed, the first time I have found him so 
since his return. 

When Mrs. Whibley and Miss Philip left the studio, he told me 
the story of De Wet, which, he said, made him think that after all, 
Sauter was fortunate not to have been involved in the matter of 
the portrait. Constable wanted one for a frontispiece to De Wet's 
book, and young Meredith prevailed upon De Wet, who had no 
time to give sittings, to let Sargent make a sketch of him while he 
packed. Then Meredith jumped into a hansom and rushed off to 
Sargent and begged him to come and make whatever sketch he 
could in the time and under the circumstances. Sargent good- 
naturedly agreed to do what he could, and they drove back to 
262 [1902 

The Invalid in the Studio 

Horrox's Hotel, and De Wet packed, and Sargent made the sketch. 
"And now," said De Wet, when it was finished, "what are you 
going to give me for it?" Meredith managed to arrange matters 
by saying it was his affair — Sargent got off, and the Constables 
settled by giving De Wet sixty pounds. Whistler was sad about 
it, "Well, you know, I wish it had not happened! You must not 
tell the story; it is sure to get out; but then it must not come from 
us — the reason I did not tell you before the Ladies." At this point 
Lavery called with a Miss L. and I came away. 

Monday, November ioth. J. went down to see Whistler — he was 
a wreck again. Boldini had been to see him, he had tired him- 
self out — returned to his overcoat costume. For the first time, 
he struck J. as being very ill. He slept most of the time. Studd 
was there, Lavery came in and altogether no chance to talk. 

Thursday, November ijth. A telegram from Whistler was waiting 
for me when I got home about six, asking me to come to tea, but, 
of course, it was then too late. 

Friday, November 14th. Another telegram to-day asking me to tea, 
and I went about five after the Walter Crane press view at Dore's. 
Found Sauter there. Whistler wanted to hear all about the Por- 
trait Painters and the press view, and what everyone had said. 
But there was little to tell, especially as Miss Philip had been to 
the private view, and I hadn't. He thought I was too hard on 
Lavery. Why did I do it? He was full of Guthrie's election to the 
Presidency of the Royal Scottish Academy, he telegraphed con- 
gratulations at once and made a copy, which he read to us, and 
also Guthrie's answer: "Warmest thanks, my President," which 
pleased him immensely. Sauter and I came away together, Sauter 
coming home to dinner with us. 

Thursday, November 20th. To-day Wynford Dewhurst lunched with 
us, back from Paris where he has been showing h's pictures at the 
Grand Hotel and seeing all the critics. Among others he met 
M. Duret, who sent us a message. He had been preparing to 
1902] 263 

The Whistler Journal 

write a book about Whistler, but when he heard from Heinemann, 
through his publisher Floury, that we were doing it, he of course 
retired in our favour, and asked Dewhurst to tell us that all his 
material was at our disposal, which is certainly amiable. 
I went down to Whistler's later in the afternoon. He kept me 
waiting upstairs for some time, sending me word that he hoped I 
would not get tired of waiting, he had so much to tell me. I sat 
in the dining-room. It is extraordinary how comfortless the house 
seems, his illness beginning before there was time to put things 
straight. His beautiful blue-and-white china was in one corner, 
his beautiful glass was in a cupboard in another. Brown paper 
in a great pile filled the settee. The cloth and the napkins were 
still on the table. A wooden box with Eggs printed on it, and odds 
and ends of parcels littered the old satinwood sideboard. Every- 
thing looked cheerless and ill-cared for. 

Then downstairs — he had dressed to receive me. He was more 
like himself than I have seen him yet — the cause: a letter he had 
just been writing. "You know, Wedmore in The Standard, speak- 
ing of The Little Cardinal at the Portrait Painters referred to having 
seen it before — so did Claude Phillips in The Telegraph, and my 
letter to The Standard is to demolish them both — calling Wedmore, 
Podsnap — discovering Podsnap in art criticism and almost feeling 
the thump of Newton's apple on my head. What?" He was 
delighted, he read the letter aloud, then made me read it. "Heine- 
mann. who knows the Editor of The Standard, is to take the letter 
to him, and, altogether, you know, the whole thing has the flavour 
of intrigue, and I do believe it has made me well again." Asked 
again about the Portrait Painters; he had heard something about 
Van Wisselingh having sent some Bauers to it, what did that mean? 
I assured him that whoever told him had got the facts crooked. 
Van Wisselingh has just opened a show of Bauers in his own Gallery 
"I knew that fool Z. was wrong!" When I asked him why he did 
not send the beautiful Mrs. Vanderbilt that was in Paris to the 
Portrait Painters, he said that when Vanderbilt saw it at the 
Salon, he seemed to think it was not quite finished, "That is, that 
I might like to have one or two more sittings from Mrs. Vanderbilt 
264 [1902 

The Invalid in the Studio 

— simply an excuse for not having the picture go to other exhibi- 
tions." The reason Claude Phillips is unfriendly, he said, dates 
back to Paris days. "Phillips, you know, was playing le mondain 
and was at the house of the Comtesse de — one evening when I 
was dining there. Phillips was talking to her in his most impres- 
sive manner when she saw me. She called me, turned to devote 
herself to me. When Phillips at last walked away, she said, 'Did 
you ever see such hands? What a man!' And no doubt Claude 
Phillips heard and did not like it." 

Saturday, November 29th. In the afternoon went to Whistler's. 
A motor car at the door, and Heinemann in the studio with 
Whistler, who was dressed and looking much better. The two 
were deep over old letters and newspaper clippings, preparing 
another edition of The Gentle Art, and also a little brown paper 
leaflet with the Wedmore correspondence in The Standard. For 
Wedmore answered Whistler in last Saturday's paper, and The 
Standard was not willing to print Whistler's second letter. The 
idea is to print the two that did appear, then the unpublished 
Whistler letter and clippings from past notices, books, etc., by 
Wedmore as a proof of how for twenty years, as he says in his 
Standard letter, he has been praising Whistler's finer work! I 
was still reading Wedmore's letter when Mrs. Heinemann arrived, 
and there was a diversion for tea. Then, Whistler returned to the 
old correspondence, and read a wonderful letter to the Fine Art 
Society, when they complained of his failure to complete the Venice 
contract by pulling for them the number of prints agreed upon, 
though M. Duret had told them of recent proofs he had seen in a 
Paris gallery. Little Brown wrote, apparently, a letter from his 
own house and another from the Bond Street shop, and throughout 
Whistler, in answering, emphasized the distinction by referring to 
Mr. Brown of Surbiton, Mr. Brown of Virginia Water, and Mr. 
Brown of Bond Street, Mr. Brown expert, salesman. 
Then he arranged with Mrs. Heinemann for a sitting next Tuesday, 
and the Heinemanns left. "Is Mr. Heinemann coming back?" 
I asked Whistler, thinking perhaps he had only gone to put his 
1902] 265 

The Whistler Journal 

wife in the carriage. "I hope not," Whistler said, most emphat- 
ically, "for I am so tired! Tell Joseph he must come soon, but I 
am tired!" And he looked it. But he went back to the letters. 
"I do come across extraordinary things," he said, "listen to this 
I have just picked up, written to Graves, I don't remember when, 
but it must have been at a time when they were a little sore about 
something." He read it. Graves seemed to have threatened the 
bailiffs and Whistler told them he supposed there was nothing to 
do but to turn on the hounds of the law. "But," he said, "what 
do you really think of the appearance you will make, with one hand 
presenting a Sir Joshua Reynolds to the nation, with the other 
turning the bailiffs on Whistler! Well, indeed, is it that the right 
hand does not always know what the left doeth." "It ought to be 
printed," I said, "it is too beautiful to be lost." "Yes," was his 
answer, "but, after all, there are things that wouldn't quite do 
for the public," and I suppose his being threatened with the bailiffs 
would not. But he thought, the Du Maurier correspondence might 
go into the new edition. Where was it? Miss Philip did not know. 
"Oh, you must, Major," but she was very severe about it. No, 
Ethel would probably know, she did not, she had nothing to do 
with it. He must ask Ethel. Something was said about Airs. 
Addams and the baby. Was the baby an apprentice, I asked. 
Whistler laughed, "Oh, yes, of course, it was born an apprentice." 

The pamphlet was never published, nor was Mrs. Heinemann's 
portrait finished. Whistler had a talent for inventing nicknames, 
and at this period, he always called Miss Philip "Major." 

Tuesday, December jrd. As J. was getting ready to go down to 
Whistler's, a telegram came asking us both to tea, and to bring 
all the Wedmore books! I could not go, so J. went alone, without 
any books. Whistler was dressed and in good form. J. represented 
that he had no books Whistler hadn't himself. Where were his 
copies? "Somewhere about," Wliistler supposed, but he did not 
know just where. No one seemed to know. He wanted to heap 
proofs of Wedmore's appreciation upon his head. 
266 [1902 

The Invalid in the Studio 

Then he told J. the reason of Wedmore's irritation. It happened 
long ago. He had been asked to dinner at the Rawlinsons. "I 
arrived. In the middle of the drawing-room table was the new 
Fortnightly Review, wet from the press, with an article on Meryon 
by Wedmore, and there was Wedmore, the distinguished guest — 
I felt the excitement over the great man and the great things he 
had been doing. Wedmore took the hostess in to dinner. I was 
on her other side. And I felt like a little devil, seeing things, 
bent on making the most of them. And I talked of critics, of 
Wedmore as though I did not know who sat opposite. And I was 
nudged — my foot kicked under the table. But I talked. And 
whenever the conversation turned on Meryon, or Wedmore's 
article, or other serious things, I told another story, and I laughed — 
Ha-ha! — and they couldn't help it — they all laughed with me, and 
Wedmore was forgotten, and I was the hero of the evening, and 
Wedmore has never forgiven me." 

He began to talk of Raffaelli's solid colours and was sure they 
were no good. His reason was personal — he did not like Raffaelli. 
Raffaelli was a Jew. Then he came to London in the old White House 
days, with a letter of introduction to Whistler who had to be polite 
and ask him to Sunday breakfast. But that was all. "Then, you 
know, some time afterward, when I was in Paris, Durand-Ruel 
gave a show of my work and Manet's and others of my friends. 
We were all there hanging the pictures, and had been all day, 
and when evening came, it was a question of dining and general 
gaiety. Raffaelli appeared. And he was effusive, met me like an 
old and intimate friend, called me 'mon cher Vistlaire, mon cher 
ami,' and I thought it offensive, a presumption. The next day I 
was again at Durand-Ruel's, in one of the rooms with a few dis- 
tinguished people and critics, Mirbeau among them. Again 
Raffaelli arrived, and again was familiar with 'mon cher Vistlaire' 
and 'mon cher ami.' I put my glass in my eye, looked him up and 
down, let it drop, told him that I did not know him and did not 
wish to, that no one had asked him there and it would be more 
agreeable if he were to go into another room. Raffaelli was in a 
fury, naturally — said he had as good right^there as anybody else 
1902] 267 

The Whistler Journal 

and would not go. Very well then, said I, as your company is not 
agreeable, I will go; and so I did, and all the others with me, leaving 
Raffaelli alone. A week later Raffaelli came to Mirbeau — he had 
been thinking it over, and had decided that Whistler's conduct was 
notto be accepted, would Mirbeau be his second ? Mirbeau laughed. 
Had Raffaelli discovered it a week ago, Mirbeau would have been 
charmed. After a week it was too late. He would not countenance 
it. And that was the last I heard of Raffaelli and the duel." 

The dinner at Mrs. Rawlinson's explains Whistler's saying that, 
"Well, you know, when I'm asked out to dinner, I always enjoy 
myself. But — well — I'm never asked to the same house twice!" 
Whistler loved nothing so much as chivvying people like Wedmore 
right to their faces, and this was one of the ways he got his reputa- 
tion for malice among outsiders. He rarely went to public dinners 
because at them, he thought, one never dined. After an annual 
British Artists' dinner at the Monaco, when Wyke Bayliss began 
his speech by saying he had dined, "Ha! ha! Well, I haven't," 
Whistler interrupted. If he did go, the pleasure he failed to get in 
the dinner he made up for by the pleasure he got out of the people. 
At a dinner to Fred Brown when he was made Professor at the 
Slade School, or else at a New English Art Club dinner, J. cannot 
remember which, Whistler was put on one side of the Chairman 
and Wedmore on the other, and Wedmore made a speech which J. 
has completely forgotten. Then Whistler was called on. Even 
before this, he had been talking generally to the guests at the 
table about Wedmore as if Wedmore was not there, and, when 
he got up he went on in the same strain and finished by talking 
straight at Wedmore about himself as if he were some one else. 
The poor man stood it, but what else could he do? 

Friday, December 5th. A letter came from Whistler, asking us to 
tea, and giving suggestions for a notice of the show of silver at the 
Fine Art Society's to which he has lent some of his. But neither 
of us could get to him, and when I went to the Fine Art's, there 
was no press view, only a private view tomorrow. I telegraphed 
I would come in the afternoon. 

Saturday, December 6th. Went to the Fine Art's. There, Whistler's 
silver in a case by itself, draped with white napkins, while the 
268 [1902 

The Invalid in the Studio 

other cases were lined with red. There were beautiful pieces in 
his collection, evidently bought for use, and always a little crowd 
about it — people wondering to find the Butterfly on silver and 
linen both. Then I took a hansom and went to Chelsea. He was 
alone, and full of the show — wanted to know every detail — "how 
did the white, the beautiful napkins, look? Didn't the slight hint 
of blue in the Japanese stand and the few perfect plates tell? 
Didn't the other cases look vulgar in comparison? And didn't 
the simplicity of my silver, evidently for use and cared for, make 
the rest look like museum specimens? — What?" He examined the 
catalogue, found his McNeill spelt wrong, and could not understand 
why the entries were so few and the description so brief when it 
came to his case. No doubt, Percy Macquoid, who arranged the 
exhibition and prepared the catalogue, was indignant because he 
sent "the Ladies" to arrange his case. Then Miss Philip came in. 
Evidently "the Ladies" and Macquoid had not carried things off 
very amiably. When I told him Rinder was in the gallery, he 
said, "O, the man I called Rinder-pest the other day." He does 
not forget his own little sayings. 

Whistler began to show me the proofs of the Wedmore-Staw^<zr^ 
correspondence, to be issued as one of the brown-paper covered 
pamphlets, but a musical friend of Studd's, now staying with 
Studd, was announced. "Damn!" said Whistler. "Take him 
upstairs, Major, he is one of your friends." But Miss Philip 
wouldn't, and the musical friend, a young German, came in, over- 
flowing with enthusiasm. It was such a joy to play his piano in 
that room with the three Whistlers. Studd was so distressed that 
he made Whistler angry by having allowed them to be photo- 
graphed by some publishers! And such pains had been taken! 
The photographers were almost three hours doing one of them. 
Studd ought to have consulted him Whistler said ; other friends who 
had his pictures refused — the publishers did not come to him for 
permission, did the greater part without his knowing until he heard 
of it in a roundabout way — they were profiting by his work and 
him, and he was not getting a penny out of it. Was it the Bells? 
I asked. Yes, it was the Bells. The musical friend talked of the 
1902] 269 

The Whistler Journal 

German Emperor. "Emperors are absurd now," Whistler said 
"It was all very well when they could say, cut off this man's or 
that man's head, and it was done at once, or as they can now if 
they happen to be Emperor of China or Russia. But for the others, 
it is nonsense." The young man stayed so long that as soon as he 
had gone, I had to go too. "Tell Joseph he's a humbug," Whistler 
said, "he never comes to see me." J. had been only three or four 
days before. 

Thursday, December nth. J. went down early in the afternoon 
before the International Meeting at Lavery's. Whistler up and 
dressed, but looking very ill and coughing most awfully. It was 
his tonsils, he said. But he coughed so he could hardly talk, once 
or twice wrote what he wanted to say, and seemed weaker than 
J. has yet believed him to be. 

Tuesday, December 14th. After lunching to-day at Mrs. Frankland's, 
went to Whistler's and found him looking again most frightfully 
ill. He was excited over the fact that Montesquiou had sold his 
portrait — "Montesquiou, the descendant of a long distinguished 
line of French noblemen. I painted it for a mere nothing — mon 
cher, you understand Montesquiou said, and it was arranged 
between gentlemen. And now Montesquiou has sold it, no doubt 
for a large sum of money! He had written to me, but his letter is 
feeble — he had not heard from me for so long, thought I had 
forgotten him — no excuse at all. Canfield has bought the picture — 
Canfield, an American who was here last winter and came to ask 
me to paint his portrait." Was that the portrait of the man with 
the large and rather ugly face I had seen once in his studio? I 
asked, and he said "Yes." 

I did not stay long, he seemed so used up. But he rallied when 
Miss Philip came in, to tell her my menu at lunch — a kidney 
omelette, a beefsteak and kidney pudding, and then another 
pudding, a plum pudding. What an English meal! Miss Philip 
thought nothing so bad as a menu with repetitions. Who was it 
in Dickens had watched the dinner going into the neighbor's and 
everything was cooked with white sauce? Dickens, however, 
270 [1902 



In the Frick Collection 

The Invalid in the Studio 

seemed to think it specially distinguished. "Ah, but that is quite 
another matter," Whistler said, "a dinner that aims at a certain 
harmony throughout. Wasn't I the first to give white and yellow 
lunches, an idea copied everywhere afterward with great pretense of 
originality?" I stayed a very short time, he looked so exhausted. 
When I came home, I told J. about the Montesquiou and said it 
was a Mr. Canfield in New York who now had it. Canfield, J. 
said, why that was the name of the gambler Kennedy warned 
Whistler against. And J. gave me the story as he heard it from 
Kennedy when they met at Siena last summer. I knew of a differ- 
ence between. Whistler and Kennedy, but Kennedy had never 
explained the reason. It seems that he had come over earlier than 
usual that year, and with his first chance had spoken to Whistler 
of Canfield, thought he ought to know before getting involved 
with a man of that kind. Over here, no one would have heard of 
Canfield, and Kennedy could understand Whistler's receiving him 
as an American, and painting him. But the man was in every way 
notorious in New York, and Whistler ought to know. Whistler 
was furious — indignant with Kennedy for telling him. Why, Mr. 
Canfield had been there, had been received by him, had been intro- 
duced to "the Ladies" — that was enough to establish his respect- 
ability forever: if he had been introduced to "the Ladies" there 
was an end of it. And, in his indignation, he said things to Kennedy 
that Kennedy could not forgive. "He may say what he wants 
about the Boers, but he can't say things like that to me!" And 
Kennedy never went back, and that is the reason of the quarrel. 
Curiously, that very evening in The Star was a despatch from New 
York about the raid on Canfield's gambling place in New York 
with allusions to his pose as patron of art. 

The Montesquiou was bought by Mr. Frick and hung upstairs 
in his New York house — not with the four great Whistlers in his 
office. Whistler was never satisfied with it, wanted to get hold of 
it and the Connie Gilchrist and destroy them both. The three 
copies, lithographs after the Montesquiou, attributed to him, we 
do not believe he made. He may have worked on them. If the 
copies are his, they are, like the etching of the Irving, which he 

1902] 271 

The Whistler Journal 

also attempted to copy, hopeless failures. But we have an idea 
they were done by Mrs. Whistler. Certainly two of them bear 
no resemblance whatever to his work, and we have seen references 
of his to two "my wife did, far more beautiful!" 

Wednesday, December 24th. J. to Whistler's to report about the 
International Meeting the day before — Whistler better again, 
really in fairly good form, when J. at last saw him. But he was 
first sent mysteriously upstairs to the "Green Room," was at inter- 
vals visited by the charwoman and told that "Master Whistler" 
would see him soon, was given the papers and a cup of tea, but 
it was three quarters of an hour before he was asked to come 
downstairs into the studio. Dunthorne was there; he had been 
buying etchings, and was making out a cheque for Miss Philip. 
Then Mr. and Mrs. Addams came in, and Whistler insisted on 
playing dominoes. Addams at first objected — it may have seemed 
to him too trivial. But he could not help himself and they played, 
Mrs. Addams winning everything, and J. was an hour late 
for dinner. 

He played only dominoes, and he loved to cheat in the most open 
fashion that was meant to deceive nobody, when he shuffled them 
getting hold of some which were marked or raised, dragging them 
to him. His friends understood and enjoyed the fun with him. 


Thursday, January 1st, 1903. A card with New Year's Greetings, 
Butterfly and all, in the morning. In the afternoon I went down 
to give our greetings. Mrs. Walton was there for the same purpose. 
Whistler was much better, according to Miss Philip, but did not 
look it. He was in overcoat again, his hair flat which makes his 
face look as if there was nothing left of it, and he fell asleep at 
intervals. Mrs. Walton spoke of Benjamin Swift's lecture at Mrs. 
Lowrie's in Rossetti's old house. I told Mrs. Lowrie's ghost story. 
She saw a man on the stairs late one night on coming home, thought 
272 [1903 



,'.•.'.'•, is 



From destroyed plates. Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

The Last Months 

it her husband, and called "Frank!" No answer, called again, 
" Frank, you brute, put out the light." But it was not her husband, 
only an unknown ghost, and I asked Whistler if there were any 
ghosts in Rossetti's day. Not ghosts, he said, but spirits. Wonder- 
ful things happened, wonderful things were going on in Chelsea 
just then, and there were evenings at Rossetti's with surprising 
results. Just what these results were, he did not say, but he 
insisted upon the difference between spirits and ghosts. He was 
too tired to go into detail, but kept dozing off, so I left early. 

Thursday, January 8th. J. went to Whistler's to report about 
the International, having arranged to meet Lavery and Sauter 
and talk over the Howard incident. Lavery and Sauter were 
both there when he arrived, and a big fat man with clean- 
shaven face wandering about the studio. More pictures were 
dragged out and shown than J. had ever seen before at one time, 
and the table was strewn with letters. Whistler was evidently 
tired out and very weak. He said to J. rather with hesitation, 
"I want to introduce Mr. Canfield of New York," and the big 
man rushed forward with both hands outstretched, "Oh, Mr. 
Pennell, I am so delighted to meet you, I have so long known your 
work." In Whistler's studio there was nothing to do but to shake 
hands. But, with the best will in the world, it is not easy to imagine 
this Canfield any but the notorious gambler Canfield about whom 
Kennedy warned Whistler. He stayed there, in a far corner, 
while they talked over the International affairs, and they left him 
there when they went off together to Lavery's studio. Again in 
leaving, both J. 's hands were grasped and shaken with enthusiasm. 

Monday, January 12th. J. received a letter from The Tribune cor- 
respondent here, I. N. Ford, enclosing a telegram from The 
Tribune, "Is Whistler painting gambler Canfield's portrait?" — so 
there must be some sort of scandal about it in New York. We 
talked it over — felt that Whistler ought to know — it does not 
seem right to him that he should not be told. But warned, as we 
have been, that he should not be excited, we are afraid to tell him 

1903] 273 


The Whistler Journal 

for fear of the consequences to his health. Not willing to take the 
responsibility, J. went to see Webb about it, and Webb has under- 
taken to tell Whistler how the matter stands when he goes to the 
studio on Thursday before the International meeting. Webb told 
J. that he ought to write the Life, and J. explained that Whistler 
has already asked us to do so, and Webb said he was glad to hear it. 

Wednesday, January 14th. Went to see Whistler, almost won- 
dering if it might be the last time, for Webb's interview with 
him may make him as indignant with us as he was with Kennedy 
last year. Found him amusing himself with the book about him 
by Elbert Hubbard, published at the Roycroft Press. "Really," 
he said, "with this I can be amused. I do not know how many 
already have used my name in this fashion and usually they only 
irritated me. But the intimate tone of this is something quite 
new." And he read bits of it, the passage about his father's court- 
ship of his mother. "What would my dear Mummy — don't you 
know, as you see her with her folded hands at the Luxembourg — 
have said to that? And our stay in Russia! Our arrival in London! 
Why the account of my mother and myself coming to Chelsea and 
finding lodgings makes you almost see us wanderers, bundles at 
end of long sticks over our shoulders, arriving footsore and weary 
in the late afternoon — amazing! It would be worth while to de- 
scribe, not the book, but the effect on Whistler reading it. It would 
be worth while to do something about it. I must think it over." 
While he was still reading, Sauter and Lavery came in, and as 
I knew it was to talk over the International and its affairs I left 
at once. 

Thursday, January 15th. We dined at Sauter's and Webb came 
to the meeting afterwards. But when at Whistler's he did not 
see him alone, and was unable to say anything — and so he let 
the matter drop, as nothing more has been heard. 

Saturday, January ijth. J. to see Whistler and report about 
Thursday evening's meeting. An unsatisfactory visit. The 
apprentices there and, for a while, not much chance for talk. 
274 [1903 

The Last Months 

Whistler still keen to have Lanteri on the Council of the Inter- 
national, "this distinguished sculptor, Master at South Kensing- 
ton." He was coughing — -J. could not irritate him by contradicting, 
and he said nothing. But Whistler is all with the Council as far 
as Howard goes. 

Francis Howard — Francis Gassoway — Francis O'Connor — he 
flourished under the three names — is a young gentleman from Texas 
who went in for art and art dealing and art criticism. He brought 
together the group of artists who founded the International. These 
were Lavery, an Irishman, Guthrie and Walton, Scotchmen, Sauter 
a German, Alfred Gilbert, Ricketts, Shannon, Greiffenhagen, 
Englishmen. Whistler, before any meeting was held, came to J. 
and wished him to be a member, and also Ludovici. Howard was 
to be Honorary Secretary. J. was not called to the first meeting 
because Ricketts and Shannon and Howard strongly objected to 
something he had said or written, and, as Whistler insisted, Ricketts 
and Shannon resigned and J. attended the second or third meeting. 
The Society got on extremely well without them and their return 
to the Council, after Whistler's death, resulted in the loss of the 
Society's international character. It was then even proposed to 
make it a Royal International Society. Though both are eminent 
artists, they were in complete opposition to Whistler's theories 
and practise. They went so far as to get rid of some of Whistler'? 
etchings which they had collected and now, they probably regret 
it sincerely. 

Tuesday, January 27th. J. to see Whistler to give a report of 
the committee meeting held in our place the night before. The 
last Nation has a paragraph about Whistler and Canfield — some 
one has sent us a paper, The N . Y. Sun, with a long account of 
Canfield and his flight from New York, a leader on the subject, 
and a burlesque interview with Whistler about the portrait. 
Canfield denied that Whistler is painting him, it seems, but J. 
found he had been there that afternoon sitting, was still there when 
Sauter arrived a little earlier. Whistler asked him what brought 
him to London. Canfield said, no other business but to sit for his 
portrait. Whistler talked of MacColl and his visit. The Glasgow 
University people propose to confer a degree on Whistler and 
MacColl came to ask if Whistler would accept it. He first sent 
1903] 275 

The Whistler Journal 

MacColl upstairs and kept him waiting there a bit, of course; then, 
when he came down, told him he had not time just then, but would 
MacColl lunch on Sunday? On Sunday again MacColl was sent 
upstairs and given Reynolds' to amuse himself with, "the paper, 
you know, you always want to see but are ashamed to pick up at 
your club," Whistler told him. And at lunch Whistler wouldn't 
talk about art but insisted on talking of West Point. 

Friday, February 6th. Went to Whistler's, not having been able 
to get there before for some weeks. Found him, I thought, 
looking very ill and coughing dreadfully. He said the Doctor 
told him he was quite another man, stronger in every respect, his 
pulse good — he was wonderful. Naturally, Whistler said, but he 
still coughs and he can't sleep at night. "Why not?" I asked. 
"Well, you know," he said, "I seem to have lost the habit." 
Pawling was there when I arrived. When he left, Whistler spoke 
of his portrait of Mrs. Heinemann. "She has not come to sit and 
have her portrait finished, which is crime enough for anything," 
he said. And then, Miss Philip coming in and tea, he said little 
more about anything at all. 

Tuesday, February 10th. J. went to see Whistler, who was in 
rather bad form, talked little, and coughed a great deal. Canfield 
had just gone, Sauter still there. A visit with nothing to report. 
Joseph Gilder now writes to J. to ask in a roundabout way about 
the Canfield affair. Has Whistler been working in London or 
Paris? he asks. J. diplomatically answers that, as far as he knows, 
Whistler has not worked in Paris for the last three or four years. 
Gilder writes back that what he wants to know is whether he has 
been working here since January? J. answers that he is afraid he 
cannot give him any information on the subject. 

Saturday, February nth. A letter from Whistler asking us to 
come and see the Rosa Corder. It has just been bought for 
America and is in his studio for a few days on the way. J. is in 
Manchester, and I go down in the afternoon. I find Canfield in 
the studio — he is charmed to meet me, has already had the pleasure 
276 [1903 

The Last Months 

of meeting my husband. It seems it is he who has bought the 
picture from Graham Robertson and he wants to get it to New York 
in time for the spring exhibition. Whistler has been all day clean- 
ing and varnishing it, and seems exhausted. Complains of cold 
and draughts, and after tea rests his forehead on the table and 
falls sound asleep. Miss Philip goes upstairs to see to her mother 
who is ill, and I am left to Canfield who plays showman and host 
too. Seems to be running the whole place — thinks I had better 
not wake up Whistler to say good-bye; he will make all my excuses 
both to him and Miss Philip. 

Saturday, February 21st. J. takes Ives — back in London to see 
about the St. Louis Exposition — to call on Whistler. One of the 
Ionides is there and Canfield. There is not much talk. Whistler 
consents to serve as Chairman of the Committee for the selec- 
tion of work by American artists in England. A more or less 
formal visit. 

Ives was Halsey C. Ives, the distinguished Director of the Art 
Section at the St. Louis Exposition. J. acted as the American 
Secretary in England with Sargent and McLure Hamilton. Pro- 
fessor Ives, at this Exposition, arranged, for the first time in an 
international show, a proper British representation for the younger 
men and the younger societies. 

"One of the Ionides" was Whistler's old friend Lucas, or Luke 
Ionides whom. he had known from his Paris student days, who 
helped us enormously with his reminiscences of Whistler's early 
years both in Paris and London, and who is now reported to be 
preparing a book of his own. 

Thursday, February 26th. J. goes down to Whistler to tell him 
about the Committee meeting held here last night. They play 
dominoes until about half past eight, and then Whistler insists on 
keeping J. to dinner. He seems in much better form, but likes 
dominoes more than talk. He does not approve of Ives. The one 
amusing story he tells J. is of the evening, not long before his illness, 
when he was sitting drinking his after-dinner coffee at the Carlton 
and an American came up and introduced himself by saying, "You 
1903] 277 

The Whistler Journal 

know, Mr. Whistler, we were both born in Lowell, Massachusetts, 
and at very much the same time. There is only the difference of 
a year — you are sixty-seven and I am sixty-eight! I put up my 
eye-glass, looked at him, laughed — Ha! ha! — everybody turned 
round — And I told him — Very charming! And so you are sixty- 
eight and were born at Lowell! Most interesting, no doubt, and 
as you please. But I shall be born when and where I want, and 
I do not choose to be born at Lowell, and I refuse to be sixty- 
seven! Ha! ha! — for the benefit of everybody in the room and 
the complete embarrassment of the man who was born at Lowell, 

The great piece of news was the birth of three small kittens, 
mother and family are established in the studio. 

Too much has been said of Whistler's adoption of a birthplace to 
suit himself for us to go over it again. But we were amused when, 
looking through the Whistler vs. Ruskin legal documents, to dis- 
cover that, preparing for the trial, Maryland was his vague choice, 
though a catalogue of a show of prints at the Guildhall, quoted 
by the lawyers, stated that he was born in Russia. 

Sunday, March 1st. Whistler telegraphed us to come to see the 
Rosa Corder for the last time, as she starts for America on Mon- 
day, and to bring MacColl. J. don't feel especially like coming and 
of course there is no getting MacColl at a moment's notice, and 
so I go alone on a fearfully stormy afternoon. Canfield there, 
looking over lithographs and showing off the Rosa Corder and a 
little pastel of mother and child which he has also bought. No 
one else but Miss Philip. Whistler better and more like himself. 
He is not in the least sleepy — he slept eight and a half hours the 
night before, Miss Philip says. The kittens are shown off. 
But the great affair is the letter he is writing to acknowledge the 
honour the University of Glasgow has conferred upon him by giving 
him a degree. He hands to me the letter of the Principal of the 
University, making the formal announcement, to read, then his 
answer, and then the address. Is it necessary, with D.D. and 
other letters and honours after his name, to give him^the Rev. 
278 [1903 

The Last Months 

before it, the Principal being a clergyman? I hesitate to give 
advice, as these things may be different in Scotland; anywhere 
else I should have thought the Rev. necessary. There is a great 
debate. Finally the letter is put in an envelope with a note to 
the Waltons next door to ask them, as Scotch themselves, what 
they think. Presently their answer comes back, that another still 
more Scotch Scotchman who happens to be there agrees with them 
in thinking that he is right in suggesting the use of Rev. before 
the name. A diplomatic answer, and the great affair is settled. 
We talk of little else, and there was no mistaking Whistler's honest 
pleasure in the degree. 

Canfield left a little before I did, with a note of introduction to a 
lady whose name I did not hear, who owns a picture by Whistler 
the title of which I did not hear, but which Whistler wants Canfield 
to buy. What might the lady think if she knew who Canfield is? 
Whistler says he has worked a little on the Rosa Corder, but very 
little. Has washed it, however, which makes all the difference in 
the colour, for it was very dirty. 

Canfield could not get the Valparaiso he wanted. When he bought 
the Rosa Corder, he told J. he went to see the young man — Graham 
Robertson — and offered him a thousand pounds for it, which the 
young man refused; he then offered two thousand, and the young 
man jumped at it. "Damned fool!" Canfield added, "I would 
have offered five thousand and jumped at the chance of getting 
it for that." 

Canfield was certainly good to Whistler during this winter. Not 
only did he sit for his portrait, but he purchased a number of small 
works and many lithographs and drawings. These were exhibited 
in Buffalo later by Miss Sage, and before Canfield's death they 
were dispersed. Not only this. Canfield's knowledge of the 
concoction of cocktails was as profound as Whistler's and J.'s 
appreciation of them. He was a curious combination of sport and 
culture, and, after two or three cocktails, or something stronger, 
was not a pleasant personality. But Whistler endured him because 
it was worth while and always spoke of him as "a perfect gentle- 
man." J.'s position was difficult as all this while we were pestered 
by American correspondents wanting to know if Whistler was 
painting "gambler Canfield" — wanting also to know his where- 
1903] 279 

The Whistler Journal 

abouts which were being asked for by District Attorney Jerome 
in New York. Finally, one day, a young newspaper man arrived 
in Buckingham Street and asked J. if it really was so, if Canfield 
was in London and was being painted by Whistler. J. advised 
him to. go to Whistler and find out. "And do you think he would 
kick me downstairs?" asked the correspondent. "Well, if he 
did," said J., "don't you think that would add to the interest of 
your story?" 

After the publication of our book, Canfield's interest in us suddenly 
ceased, as did Freer's for that matter. It is not safe to tell the truth 
about some American collectors. The last time J. saw Canfield 
was at a show in New, York where there was furniture said to be 
decorated by Whistler. Canfield was loudly explaining the evident 
fact that the paintings on the furniture were not by Whistler when 
he saw J. He left the room so rapidly that he forgot his hat and 
stick and they had to be sent for. This was our last encounter 
with him, though later he tried to prevent J. from even consulting 
his published catalogue, while, writing to a man who is our friend 
and who showed us the letter, he declared us "monumental in- 
grates," which has amused and puzzled us ever since, as with the 
exception of seeing him at Whistler's, and endeavoring to get a 
contribution from him for the Whistler memorial, we never had 
anything to do with him. 

Sunday, March 8th. Dining with the Fisher Unwins. Mrs. Unwin 
says that Whistler told her when Canfield first wanted to buy 
the Rosa Corder and offered fifteen hundred pounds, Graham 
Robertson would not hear of it. Canfield came to Whistler in 
despair. Whistler told him to make out a cheque for two thousand, 
take it with him and go back and show it to Graham Robertson, 
and he would see, and Canfield did. He handed the cheque to 
Graham Robertson who at once consented to let him have the 
picture. And this is the way it came into Canfield's possession. 

Mrs. Unwin's story about the Rosa Corder is virtually the same 
as Canfield's. 

Friday, March 13th. Down to Whistler's. He was not very well, 
said he was coughing and I must do the talking. Mrs. Clara Bell 

280 [1903 

The Last Months 

has sent him proofs of her book and he is awfully upset over it. 
"It won't do at all — it is absurd and I can't have it go as it is. I 
suppose I must go over the proofs and correct them." " But why," 
I asked, "do this for her — supply her with the facts and statements 
that will give her book the importance she could not give it herself 
— you will be helping her, which is the one thing, as I understand, 
you do not want to do. Besides, the Bells will announce that the 
text has been revised by you, and, in a way, you will find yourself 
responsible." He was awfully worried, I could see, by the whole 
thing. "Well, perhaps, I will have her down to lunch and talk 
it over with her — I really do not know what to do," — then he got 
me to read the proof to him. He was indignant, and no wonder, 
because in speaking of the Little Lady Sophie, she said that as a 
painter of the portraits of children, it placed him with Sargent 
and Shannon! And also because she referred to his later work as 
if it were not so fine, which is against his theory that the work of 
the true artist is always equally good — "There is no better, no 
best." — she is a re-echo of the Wedmores and Humphry Wards 
and the others who are continually pointing out the comparative 
weakness and slightness of his later work. I looked over the first 
few chapters, then I had to go — but he said there were mistakes 
and endless confusion through the others, and I left him in the 
depths of depression. 

Wednesday, March 25th. To Whistler's, but he slept the entire 
time I was there, and my talk was solely with Miss Philip. 
Nothing to report. 

Wednesday, April 1st. J. went down to see Whistler. Papers 
from home have come in which Canfield denies that Whistler is 
painting him, and J. found Canfield there and his portrait on the 
easel. After Canfield had gone, J. referred to his talk with Hartley 
and the suggestion of an International Show at Earl's Court. 
Whistler would not hear of it at first. "It would be a dishonour 
to art — to be shown with water chutes and switchbacks as part of 
the entertainment!" But J. explained how fine it would be, a fine 
building, everything on a big scale, with Hartley to finance and 
I9 3] 281 

The Whistler Journal 

run it on big lines, and, at the end, Whistler not only approved 
but became almost enthusiastic. 

Hartley is Harold Hartley, then managing the Earl's Court Exhi- 
bitions. His interest in art is keen. In every exhibition, he 
included an art section, and, in the course of his management, 
brought much work from the Continent that might otherwise 
never have been seen in London. His idea was to give the large 
galleries he reserved for art to the International, to decorate them 
as the Council might direct, and in every way to give this exhibition 
the dignity and distinction Whistler insisted upon. He knew 
it would be a good thing for Earl's Court and, incidentally, for 
the International. 

Saturday, April nth. To Whistler's — I was shown into the room 
upstairs and asked to wait — the Master wanted very much to 
see me. I suppose I waited three quarters of an hour. Then I 
was sent for to the studio. With his hair parted in the middle and 
plastered down on either side of his face, Whistler looked more 
forlorn than ever. He was apologetic — his French barber had 
been with him and, of course, he had to finish. The performance 
exhausted him, and I wanted to go at once, but he insisted on 
hearing all about A.'s wedding. So I gave him the main particulars, 
and hurried away, he looked too tired. 

A great deal has been said about Whistler's personal appearance, 
especially about his hair. Over and over, J. was with him when 
he dressed and therefore knows, and we might as well state it 
once and for all, that his hair was not grey though it had grey in it. 
And it was not dyed. J. has seen the whole performance when it 
was arranged. Whistler would dip his head in the wash basin and 
bring it out with his hair hanging down in long locks like Louis 
Stevenson's, or an Indian's. In Paris, when he lived at the Hotel 
Chatham, a maid, or a masseuse, dried it for him. When he dried 
it himself, he rubbed it with a towel and ran his fingers through it, 
and it at once became curly again. And the white lock, last of all, 
was coaxed and curled into shape. He was as careful of his hair 
as of his work — of everything, 

Friday, April iyth. J. to Whistler's, to submit to him the menu 
for the International Dinner — Whistler, after objecting to the 
282 [1903 


From a photograph bound in S. P. Avery's Copy of Sheridan Ford's Gentle Art of 

Making Enemies 

Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

The Last Months 

dinner, and upsetting Council and Society, is now altogether inter- 
ested. He approved of the menu — added but one suggestion which 
was typical: that the salad should be a Romaine, with next to no 
vinegar in the dressing! 

This is one of the many details that show how near to him were the 
affairs of the International and how carefully he worked for it. 
It shows moreover his respect for the art of dining. If he gave a 
dinner he studied the menu as carefully as he studied his palette 
when he painted a picture. By an odd chance a proof of this 
turned up in the Ruskin case documents — a rough bit of paper 
with a note oh it in his handwriting suggesting the menu for the 
dinner he gave his Counsel and Solicitor in the White House at the 
end of the trial. Here it is, a curious intimate little record: "Potage 
Paysanne; Turbot; Compote de Pigeons; Gigot de Mouton-haricot; 
Alouettes en canape; Mince Pie; Compote de Pommes; cafe." The 
International dinner was held this year in the Cafe Royal, and the 
Austrian and Belgian Ambassadors and several other distinguished 
guests were invited, for the International then was the Interna- 
tional Society it called itself. If J. remembers, Rodin attended on 
this occasion and speeches were made by Maurice Hewlett and 
men as prominent. Whistler's idea was that these annual dinners 
should become as important as the dinners of the Royal Academy, 
and they would, and the Society would have eclipsed that institu- 
tion, had he lived. It happened curiously that he was never able 
to attend any one of the annual dinners, but his interest in them, 
as in all the work, great or small, of the Society, continued to the 
last. This year he was annoyed because nothing was made in the 
papers of his absence. Lavery, the Vice-President, as always when 
he was absent, took his place. Whistler, however, did attend many 
of the informal Council dinners held at the Cafe Royal. To one 
of these Sir James Guthrie came up from Edinburgh especially to 
express, on behalf of the Council, his belief and that of the Council 
in W T histler, their allegiance to him, their willingness to support 
him, and their faith in his art and his theories. It was one of the 
finest tributes, for Sir James Guthrie is an orator as well as an 
artist, ever paid by a body of artists to an artist whom they 
recognized as their master and loved as their friend. 

Monday, May 4th. To Whistler's. He met me with a reproof. 
: 'Well, you know, was that your note about the International 
Dinner in this morning's Chronicle?" "Yes." "How could you 
1903] 283 

The Whistler Journal 

make no reference to the President's absence, the one fact of 
importance?" "No excuse," was my answer, because I did not 
want to tell him that Fisher complains of my forever dragging the 
name of Whistler into my Chronicle articles. He was tired — I 
always strike his bad days. He could not keep his eyes open and 
finally put his head down on the table, his forehead resting on it, 
and went to sleep. Mrs. Whibley was there and we talked on. 
Every now and then he waked up to say, "What was that?" just 
when we would rather he had not been listening. And once it was 
to say, so pathetically, to Mrs. Whibley, "You are not going to 
leave me, Bunny. Must you really go away today?" Nothing 
has made me feel so much the loneliness and dulness, for him, of 
the life he is now forced to lead. I stayed only a short time after 
this, and I left him sleeping. 

Fisher is W. J. Fisher, then editor of The Daily Chronicle. This 
question of dragging in Whistler, this objection to his very name, 
among so-called art critics and other outsiders was and is always 
recurring. Mr. Fisher was more liberal than many editors, but 
could not ignore his subscribers. So seldom does an artist, or any 
other man, happen in whom his friends and his followers absolutely 
believe that the average person, who never had a friend, neither 
understands nor knows anything about true faith, true friend- 
ship. There have been examples of this sort of faith in the world. 
Whistler inspired devotion and, in return, gave his friendship to 
those he knew, those he trusted. And because they supported 
and believed in him, outsiders speak of his friends as idolaters who 
never criticised him. These friends did criticise Whistler's work 
to his face and he accepted their criticism, sometimes with damag- 
ing results. But their criticism and their statements that they 
did not approve of all his work are ignored by a gang who cannot 
understand and who could not tell the truth if they did. At the 
time of the Whistler Memorial Exhibition in London, E. had a 
curious example of this determined misunderstanding on the part 
of the critics. Just before it opened, 

February ioth, 1905, at a press view of Le Sidaner's work in the 
Goupil Gallery, I ran across Humphry Ward. He wrote the Art 
Criticisms of the London Times and thereupon was accepted by 
284 [1903 

The Last Months 

the public as an authority. To him I expressed a hope that 
he was interested in the coming Whistler show. "Well," he 
said, "you have worked the press!" As if I took it personally, 
I said I hadn't, but the press seemed to have the sense to realize 
that it was something to be interested in. "I never saw anything 
like it," was his answer. "You all seem to look upon Whistler as 
God Almighty, the Three Persons of the Trinity rolled into one." 
"No," I told him, "we are far more interested in him than if he 
were God Almighty, for we look upon him simply as the most dis- 
tinguished artist of recent years." The end of it was, he supposed 
he might give the show a little of his condescending attention. But 
his manner suggested disappointment that Whistler ventured to 
become so famous though he had never predicted it. . . . He was 
at the private view, on February 22nd, the one critic who stuck 
to his colours and remained indifferent. He bore down upon me 
to ask why I appeared in such sombre colours on so triumphant 
an occasion — " Why I expected to find you in white and garlanded !" 

Another amusing meeting was with George Moore the day the 
Exhibition closed: 

April 1st, 1905. George Moore was at the show, had come over 
from Paris expressly for it. Scribners had asked him to write an 
article. But he felt he had written enough, though there were 
some things in the chapter in his book he would like to change. 
Now he felt more as if he might write. He had thought before 
coming that another look at The Piano Picture would be unendur- 
able and that he would not be able to stand seeing those legs in 
the Miss Alexander again. But now he had come, the old spell 
was over him once more, and things seemed more wonderful 
than ever. 

Thursday, May 14th, 1903. J. to Whistler's and with his usual 
luck struck one of his good days. He was gay, had been working — 
he showed J. the portrait of Canfield: What did he think of it? 
J. thought it very fine, one of his finest portraits, but suggested 
that the hand was prominent, took away from the interest of the 
1903] 285 

The Whistler Journal 

head in such a small half-length, or rather head and shoulders. 
"Oh well now! it is just like you!" But in the end, Whistler thought 
there might be something in it, and he would think about it. And 
then they played dominoes, and he kept J. to dinner, and a goose- 
berry tart made him apologize in the old way for "the Island," 
and, altogether, J. found him like himself again. 

J. often hesitated to criticise details, and so did most of Whistler's 
friends, because Whistler never asked for criticism save from those 
he really wished to criticise his work, and then he had a way 
of taking criticism, acting on it, and getting into messes in conse- 
quence. The portrait of Canfield was at that time wonderfully 
fine, but when we saw it later, we think in Paris, it was ruined. 
It was not sold with the rest of Canfield's collection, we believe, 
but was bequeathed to his son. We saw it again recently at 
Knoedler's. E. A. Walton is one artist who felt as we did about 
Whistler and criticism. Talking with us over the months when he 
lived next door to Whistler in Chelsea, he said, 

February 19th, igo6, he was sure Miss Philip made a mistake in al- 
ways praising Whistler's work and always wanting everybody else 
to praise it. She was indignant with him once when he happened 
not quite to like something Whistler had just painted. But he knew 
Whistler preferred to hear the truth, would rather have you say 
what you thought than get off the usual commonplaces. Some 
years ago, in Whistler's studio with Lavery, Whistler showed them 
a portrait he was doing and asked their opinion. Walton started 
to criticise, but Lavery interrupted, "Oh! Mr. Whistler, we would 
not venture to criticise your work!" Whistler, however, paid no 
attention to Lavery but made Walton say what he had begun to 
say, and then argued it out with him, just as any other artist would 
have done. We know for ourselves how little Whistler liked the 
"O Great Master!" attitude — the "O splendid! O wonderful!" 

Another day in May, of which there is no note — E. was in Paris — 
J. went to Chelsea and Whistler was just like himself. He put his 
arm in J.'s, walked him across the studio, and then turned him 
round. And there on the easel was the marvellous rendering of 
Miss Seton with the apple. "Hm, hm, when do you think I did 

286 [1903 

The Last Months 

that?" J. said he did not know. "O, you never know. When 
did I do it, Major?" he asked Miss Philip. "This afternoon," 
she said. "And how long did I take? About two hours?" "No, 
it was an hour and three quarters." It was as fine as the Little 
Rose or any of the other small studies — a masterpiece, and J. told 
him so. "Hm, hm, guess we'll have a cocktail." He made them. 
And they played dominoes. And some of the dominoes had curious 
tell-tale marks on their backs, or bumps on their faces, and some- 
how he always got them, and somehow he always won, which 
delighted him and everybody else. J. does not remember if he 
stayed on to dinner, but he remembers too well that the next time 
he saw the picture, it was ruined. Whistler's everlasting desire 
to get something better when what he had got was perfect, was his 
curse and his salvation. In all these later pictures he seemed con- 
scious of something he thought he could improve. Those to whom 
he showed them knew they were wonderful. But he saw something 
beyond, something more to add, and these last days his hand did 
not respond when he tried to repaint what he had done. For the 
work on one small spot meant, as always, working over the whole 
canvas to keep the skin of it right. The tragedy was, and he felt 
it, that he could no longer do this, and when he endeavoured to, 
he failed. And it saddened him. He said one day, "There is so 
much to do and so little time to do it." 

Thursday, May 28th, 1903. I went to see Whistler, but had hardly 
got there and begun to talk and to look at a portrait of Miss 
Philip which he started some months ago, and is now making into 
the most beautiful portrait of her I have seen — a blue gown with 
dull yellow beads about her neck — when his barber was announced. 
He had been fearfully nervous about the arrival of the barber — ■ 
perhaps there was not time for us to have tea served in the studio — 
perhaps there was — so I said good-bye with no talk of any kind 
worth remembering. 

There is a big gap here, J. and E. were away. Also, at times, no 
notes were made or we have not used them — others have been 
used in the Life and we do not repeat them. And for us Cheyne 
Walk, Chelsea, except in a cab, was not an easy place to get to, 
the nearest underground was Sloane Street, the nearest bus an 
hour's ride, King's Road, and from both a long walk. And finally 
it was usually a sad, sad place to go to in the end, growing sadder 
every day. 

1903] 287 

The Whistler Journal 

Thursday, June 4th. J. went to see Whistler but brought me 
nothing special to note. 

Wednesday, June 10th. To Whistler's — he was fairly awake, lis- 
tened to everything I said, but with nothing to say himself 
except to worry about his cough, the shut windows, the open win- 
dows, the coming of the Doctor for whom he had sent. He has 
never yet seemed so nervous about himself — though I thought 
him less tired than usual — and so there was nothing to do but make 
a short visit and leave him. 

Thursday, June nth. J. to Whistler's on International busi- 
ness. Whistler objected to Lavery's accepting the invitation 
from the Royal Academy to serve on the Committee for the 
British Art Section at St. Louis and J. wanted to try and persuade 
him to change his decision. But it was one of his bad days — he 
didn't seem to take the least interest — and for the first time J. 
admitted that he was pretty bad. 

Tuesday, June 23rd. J. lunched with Lavery to meet Macau- 
lay Stevenson, who gave him three good Whistler stories that 
I don't think I have heard before. Some one told him of a 
portrait of Lord Roberts painted by Mortimer Menpes in half an 
hour: "Very slow exposure," said Whistler. When Stott died a 
friend came in to tell him the news. "Stott died at sea," was the 
announcement. " Where he always was," was Whistler's comment. 
When the authorities at Glasgow decided to buy his Carlyle, a 
deputation of two or three came to him with the cheque ior a 
thousand pounds in their pocket. But they offered him eight 
hundred. Whistler refused. "Now think it over, Mr. Whistler, 
and we will be coming back again." And so they did, the next 
day. "And now, what have you been thinking, Mr. Whistler?" 
"Of nothing, gentlemen, except the pleasure of seeing you again!" 
And they gave him the cheque for one thousand. 

The thousand, though Whistler treated it so lightly, came at a 
most opportune moment. He had not been married long, he was 

288 [1903 

The Last Days 

more than usually hard up, he was deep in debt again. But first 
he invested a large part of it in old silver for he was beginning to 
replace the beautiful things sold at the bankruptcy. Somehow, 
his creditors got wind of it, pounced upon him, and in a fortnight 
not a penny of the thousand pounds was left. 


Wednesday, July ist, 1903. To Whistler's. The maid said he 
would see me, but Miss Philip sent word I had better not stay long 
as he was tired. He was in bed, distinctly worse, with a curious 
vague look in his eyes, all the life gone out of them. He said noth- 
ing and seemed almost in a stupor, though he must have been 
listening, for every now and then he interrupted to ask, "What's 
that?" The only two things he said were characteristic. Miss 
Philip told me he had not been able to eat for the last few days, 
and the Doctor ordered turtle soup, and they had got it at the 
correct place in the City — Birch's — "Shocking, shocking," said 
Whistler, apparently with reference to nothing in particular. But, 
after a minute or two, when I had almost forgotten, he added, 
"We all live in the City now." Then when I left, naturally in 
about ten. minutes, and told him I must go, he said, "No wonder 
you want to go from a house where they don't give you anything 
to eat!" I had refused when Miss Philip wanted to get tea for me. 
When she came to the door with me, she did not seem more alarmed 
than usual, though it looked to me as if he could not have more 
than two or three weeks at the most to live. She only said 
she wished they would not bother him about the International. 
Lavery, the last time he came, would talk business though she 
warned him, and Whistler was exhausted by the excitement. 

All the details of these last tragic days were, in our opinion, of 
importance and to be recorded, and we used them in the Life. 
As an absurd misconstruction was put upon our use of Whistler's 
reference to his house as "one where they don't give you anything 
to eat," let us say, and be done with it, that this was pathetically 
characteristic of Whistler. His was the most hospitable of houses, 
1903] 289 

The Whistler Journal 

and he and Miss Philip never failed in their hospitality. But at 
such a moment E. would never have allowed them to trouble to 
get tea for her, and it touched her deeply that Whistler, ill as he 
was, barely conscious, could still remember what he considered 
his duties as host and feel that something was wanting in the wel- 
come he gave her. It is still a keen regret to J. that work took him 
from London at the end of June and that he did not return until the 
day before Whistler's death. E. also was away off and on in June. 

Monday, July 6th. To Whistler's. The Doctor was with him, 
and I waited almost an hour upstairs with Mrs. Whibley. Then 
he sent for me to the studio. He was up and dressed, had been 
out driving. But he looked worse than last week, his eyes vaguer 
and more dead, giving one the impression of a man in a stupor and 
he said not a word, while I did my best to interest him, describing 
Loubet's arrival at Victoria. Finally, Miss Philip asked him if he 
were tired. I had been there not more than ten minutes. He said 
yes, and so I told him I must go. And yet, when he said good-bye, 
the one thing he added was characteristic: "You are looking 
very nice!" 

Loubet was then President of the French Republic and his arrival 
in London was one of the early incidents of that Entente Cordiale 
which the English cultivated so assiduously. From a friend's 
window in Victoria Street, E. had watched the ceremonial with 
which "the Islanders" received him, and then hurried on to 
Whistler's, sure that this was one of the little things that he would 
love to hear and ready for his never-failing ridicule of "the 
Islanders" in any role. But he was far beyond jesting or even the 
glimmer of interest. 

Thursday, July gth. Duret and Kennedy dined with me. 
Duret had been that morning to see Whistler, and, like me, he 
thought Whistler seemed in a stupor — he could hardly speak and 
found his words with difficulty; no one without a clue could have 
understood what he was talking about. Duret was overcome; some 
of the best hours of his life, he said, were spent with Whistler. . . . 

Sunday, July 12th. Kennedy came in to read me a letter from 
Dunthorne who was at Whistler's yesterday and reports him 
290 [1903 

The Last Days 

distinctly worse, hardly able to talk, unable to look at prints, his 
hands swollen, which in heart disease, Kennedy says, is a bad 
sign — a sign of the end. Miss Philip, after a little, told Dunthorne 
it was better to go and to come back on Monday. Dunthorne 
wanted him to identify certain prints, but it was useless. 

Tuesday, July 14th. To Whistler's: the Doctor was with him, 
but he asked me to wait and I went upstairs with Mrs. 
Whibley, who seemed hopeful. In about ten minutes he sent for 
me. He was dressed, in the studio, and pictures were on the easels. 
He seemed distinctly better, though his face was as sunken and 
his eyes as vague. But he talked. When I told him he looked 
better and asked him how he felt, he answered with all his old 
gallantry, "I only wish I felt as well as you look." He asked for 
news, what of Henley, had I heard anything? I spoke of the 
Sauters who came in to see us a few evenings before. They were 
in our neighborhood for a lecture which they found impossible and 
came to us instead, I said their energy was wonderful, they were 
ready to do anything, to go everywhere they were asked. "Not 
so much energy, perhaps," Whistler said, "as not knowing how to 
put in their time." The little mother cat, lately banished from 
the studio, was running round again, and she jumped in my lap, 
rubbing her face up and down against mine. "She remembers 
you," Whistler said. Altogether, he was like another man, or 
rather like himself again, especially when Miss Philip brought him 
a cup of chicken broth. He was in a fury at the sight of it. "I 
suppose I must take the damned thing — excuse the word," turning 
to me, "but it must be said." And he scolded in a voice as strong 
as ever. How did they expect him to have an appetite for his 
dinner? they never gave him a chance, they were always making 
him take something, he had no peace, every hour it was something 
until of course he did not want his dinner. Miss Philip looked as 
if her nerves were giving. She poured him out a cup of tea instead, 
and went in the next room for a minute. Every now and then his 
eyes closed, but he was interested in everything, and when Lavery 
was announced told the maid to show him in, and asked me why 
1903] 291 

The Whistler Journal 

I was going so soon when I got up to say good-bye. But I was 
afraid that to have Lavery and myself both there would be too 
much for him. Mrs. Whibley and Miss Philip came to the door 
with me and they seemed encouraged. The Doctor said the heart 
was all right. 

Henley, about whom he asked, had died but a few days before, 
and Whistler was anxious to know what we knew of his death, and 
of the funeral to which Whistler had sent a great spray of purple 
iris. We are afraid Whistler did not make an easy patient. His 
illness would not have seemed so tragic had he resented it 
less bitterly. 

Wednesday, July i$th. Duret came in after dinner. He had been 
down to see Whistler again and again was shocked at Whistler's 
condition. He was there an hour, and he could see that Whistler 
wanted to talk and was struggling to find the words. Whistler 
showed him some of his etchings at Spithead, and was glad to have 
Duret recall the old days. But it was clear there were other things 
he wanted to say and could not, and Duret left him feeling it was 
the last time he would see him. Duret talked to us of those 
old days. . . . 

Saturday, July 18th. When I came down to breakfast, I opened 
a letter from Fisher: "Why did you not let me know of the 
death of Whistler?" He died suddenly yesterday afternoon. 
Fisher asked us to write an appreciation. We had hardly settled 
down to work when Lavery arrived. He had been to the house, 
had seen Miss Philip. He had suggested that all the Society should 
go to the funeral. She thought perhaps it would be better if only 
the Council went. It was not yet decided when the funeral would 
be. Mr. Freer was seeing to everything for them. Lavery wants 
a meeting called for Monday to see about sending flowers and other 
details. His idea is that the Society should give up next winter's 
Exhibition to Whistler, but this is something not even to be 
spoken of until later on. Then a telegram from The Star ask- 
ing for an article. After lunch, Sauter came, as I was starting 
for Chelsea. 
292 [ 1903 

The Last Days 

As I was shown in the house, Freer was coming out of the studio, 
wearing a rather professional air of grief. He could tell me nothing. 
He got to the house the afternoon before at half past three, and 
everything was over. Mrs. Whibley joined us — Miss Philip asked 
to be excused — and we sat in the hall. On Thursday, she said, he 
seemed so well. He went out driving with Mr. Freer. Then, 
after he came back he sat talking to her for a long while, and he 
and Miss Philip and she played dominoes together. The three 
dined in the studio, and she told him he was so much better, before 
long he would, be dressing again for dinner. Anyway, she said, 
never at any time had he been as bad as last summer at The Hague. 
Friday morning Mrs. Lawson, who had sat up with him, said 
that he passed a fairly good night and Mrs. Whibley, who was 
tired, did not go down. But after lunch they called her. She saw 
at once the attack was serious, the Doctor was sent for, she and 
Miss Philip were with him, and as I understood, it was over before 
the Doctor got to the house. With him, it seemed to her, as with 
all people with whom she has been at the last, that, dying, he saw 
something the living could not see. The time for the funeral is 
not yet arranged, but the service will be held at old Chelsea Church, 
the church to which he used to take his mother. As I left, a brisk 
youth "representing the American press" made his appearance 
asking for information. 

A cablegram from The Century saying, "Reserve Whistler remin- 
iscences." Kennedy and little Brown came in the afternoon to 
find out, if possible, about the funeral, and Kennedy stayed to 
dinner, broken up because when, on Thursday, after more than a 
year, he called on Whistler, Whistler was out and Miss Philip 
would not see him, though she saw Dunthorne who was with him. 
Duret dropped in later on, tragic in his sorrow. Whistler was his 
last friend — all the others had gone. Now, in Paris, he is alone. 
If he goes out on the Boulevards, he goes by himself. He is left 
without friends. . . . 

J. heard of Freer from another source. Back in London on 
the afternoon of the 17th, he went to the Art Workers' Guild in 
1903] 293 

The Whistler Journal 

the evening and there met T. R.Way. The meeting is recorded in 

The Journal a few days later: — 

Thursday, July 23rd. Uneventful, but must remember to put 
down what I did not at the time. When J. went to the A. W. G. 
on Friday, he found T. R. Way in frock coat and top hat. so un- 
usual a sight that J. asked him what it meant. Way said he had 
been lunching with Freer who wanted to see him about the litho- 
graphs — Freer had left him to go and take Whistler a drive. And 
so, while Whistler was dying, Freer was giving a lunch to the 

All along, J. had told Whistler he refused to fight with Way 
because Way was useful to both of them, just as he refused to take 
up Whistler's business affairs with Way, at the time of the quarrel 
which involved the bill for lithographs, and he advised Whistler 
to get Webb to see to it. The bill for merely some two hundred 
pounds covered an enormous amount of work. Way turned over 
to Webb all the stones with drawings on them, Whistler paid the 
bill and got the best of the bargain, but he refused to see, or have 
anything to do with the Ways, father and son, from then until the 
day of his death. 

Sunday, Julyigth. Lavery in the evening. He wanted to know 
if we had heard the date of the funeral. But, like everyone 
else, we know nothing. He told us Guthrie was coming up from 
Scotland, he was always devoted to Whistler, though, at first, 
Whistler distrusted him, was not sure of him. But, gradually, 
Whistler began to understand how genuine Guthrie was In his 
devotion. Guthrie got him the LL.D. in the Glasgow University, 
which is interesting to hear as MacColl gave us to understand that 
it was his doing. . . . 

Monday, July 20th. Began the day with a telegram "from Ken- 
nedy asking when the funeral was to be — still we did not know. 
Heinemann sent for J., said, of course, the arrangement for the 
book held good. But nothing could be done until the family was 
consulted or it was known who were the executors, and there for 
the moment the matter rests. At lunch, Wilson came in, he also 
294 [1903 

The Last Days 

wanting to know when the funeral was to be. He told us of a 
wonderful Chinese cabinet from Whistler's studio bought by his 
brother-in-law at the sale. Somehow or other the top got mis- 
placed, and long afterwards Whistler, chancing on it in some old 
shop, bought it no doubt for a good price, and brought it in a cab 
straight to Wilson's brother-in-law, that the cabinet might be 
complete as a thing so beautiful should be. Then Hartrick turned 
up. Spoke of the evening he met Whistler here and the wonderful 
form Whistler was in, telling stories about Rossetti, imitating 
Rossetti's voice. . . . 

Miss Gilder called in the afternoon to ask if she could make with 
J. the arrangement she has made with Gosse and Archer: to use 
any signed article he may have in The Daily Chronicle for The 
Critic — she does not pay much, but as there is no copyright any 
one who chooses could steal the work and pay nothing. She wanted 
The Daily Chronicle article about Whistler for the September 
Critic. Then Brown, with Pollitt, called to ask about the funeral. 
No one knows and everybody is anxious. I learn from Brown that 
other people besides ourselves think the notice in Saturday's Times 
shocking. Abbey is indignant. Heinemann answered it but 
thought it best to tear up his letter. Holme of The Studio asks 
J. to help him find Whistlers for an "important publication" he 
is bringing out! which is funny, but business-like. 
A Council meeting of the International, the funeral is to be on 
Wednesday, the service in old Chelsea Church at eleven, and 
interment at Chiswick. They arranged to send a wreath, write 
to the family, send round notices. 

The cabinet is the one referred to in The Paddon Papers. We have 
told the story in the Life. Pollitt is Mr. A. J. Pollitt of whom 
Whistler painted, in the Fitzroy Street studio, a portrait which 
was destroyed. After E.'s call in Chelsea, we were not only not 
asked to the house but kept in ignorance of the arrangements for 
the funeral and everything else, as were all his friends — Heinemann, 
Lavery, Sauter, Duret. 

Tuesday, July 21st. Notices of the funeral at last in the 
papers. Dell, having written to J. that he would like an article 
1903] 295 

The Whistler Journal 

about Whistler for the September number of The Burlington, 
lunched with us to talk it over. He wants an appreciation of 
Whistler's art, so it ought not to interfere with The Century, and 
J. promises to let him know, suggesting for August an article about 
the man by W. M. Rossetti, one of the few old friends left. In the 
afternoon a visit from Fisher Unwin asking about the funeral — 
it is incessant — and after dinner Duret and Strang and David 
Strang. Poor Duret again told me that he had no friends left. 
He brought me a copy of the Matin, with the best French notice I 
have seen, and told me the quotations from Whistler's Propositions 
for the Academie were from his translation made at Whistler's 
request. He kept repeating his loss: first Manet, then Zola, now 
Whistler — all great men. Spoke of the book he was writing, said 
it would be entirely of Whistler's art, and he would try and 
reproduce in it the things that are not so well known. . . . 
Letter of condolence from Gosse. McLure Hamilton and Wynford 
Dewhurst write to ask us to send them the best notices. One 
would think we ran a sort of Whistler agency. 

Wednesday, July 22nd. The funeral — J. went early with the 
International. I took Augustine. Later than I meant to be. It 
was five minutes to eleven when I reached the church and I ex- 
pected to find it crowded, but it was perhaps not half full. Mrs. 
Dr. Whistler, with Mrs. Thynne and Miss Thynne in deep mourn- 
ing in a pew a little in front of me. Saw various people — little 
Brown; D. C.Thomson; a pew of Academicians, Alma-Tadema and 
East among them; Mrs. Abbey; Charles Whibley, his brother-in- 
law, in a pew in the side aisle; Heinemann with Dr. Chalmers 
Mitchell coming in later. Joseph saw Mrs. Heinemann and 
Mortimer Menpes — but the names are all in the papers. At last 
the funeral procession. The coffin was carried the short distance 
from the house to the church. The men staggered under it as they 
walked up the aisle, the purple velvet pall any which way, owing 
no doubt to difficulty of passing the font at the entrance; then the 
pall-bearers; then the Philip family — the five sisters, the brother, 
young Godwin, young Lawson; then Webb, the Doctor, and Studd, 
296 [1903 




By J. Pennell 

The Last Days 

and immediately after, as if part of the procession, Brandon 
Thomas and his wife, who came in the pew with me. The clergy- 
man has a dull, emotionless voice, and as he reads lessons and 
prayers, the beautiful burial service is not in the least impressive, 
neither so simple as to be solemn in its simplicity, nor so fine in its 
formality as to be dignified with the dignity Whistler loved. The 
procession re-forms, the Council of the International fall in behind 
and the people follow in carriages and hansoms provided by them- 
selves, but not many. At Chiswick, J. says a crowd evidently is 
expected for numbers of policemen form round the funeral party 
as if to protect it, but there are few people. Miss Philip walks to 
the grave and looks in with calm, expressionless face. The Inter- 
national Council are given a place close to the grave. A man in 
blue monocle, red coat, blue shirt, orange flower in buttonhole, 
fur cap, long fur edged gloves, comes leaping over the graves like 
some strange uncanny monster. The clergyman takes off his 
biretta, mumbles the prayers as if in haste to get through with 
them. Miss Kinsella crouches on the grass, crying audibly. And 
all is over. But the graveyard is calm and beautiful, the grave 
under a wall covered with clematis. 

In the confusion of coming away, J. finds himself in a carriage with 
Studd, who explains how he happened to be with the family. They 
had asked him to be a pall-bearer, but, at the last moment, as a 
favour begged him to make way for Duret. It is to be noted that 
among the pall-bearers — George Vanderbilt, Freer, Abbey, Guthrie, 
Lavery, and Duret — there are three Americans, one Scotchman, 
one Irishman, one Frenchman, and no Englishman. It is also to 
be noted that not an art critic is present in the church. A wreath 
of gold bay leaves, one of the only two wreathes on the coffin, was 
sent by the International. When J. reached the church, no 
arrangement had been made to reserve seats for anybody, and 
only by his instructions to the verger were pews reserved for the 
International Council and friends. He lunched at the Hyde Park 
Hotel with the others of the Council, to talk over a Whistler 
Memorial. Howard, in a moment of inspiration, suggested a 
gallery. Sauter was in a state of indignation because the funeral 
1903] 297 

The Whistler Journal 

was so little impressive, anywhere else it would have been an 
official occasion, the chief authorities represented, the military out. 
Indeed, all the Societies and Academies to which Whistler belonged 
should have been represented and they probably would be very 
indignant because they had not been. 

This completes The Whistler Journal, from the day of our first 
talk after he asked us to write his Life three years before, until 
the day of his funeral — but only to the day of his funeral. The 
end is not yet, nor will be as long as we live. Whistler's fame 
grows with the years, and we feel it our duty to leave as full a record 
as we can of the great Master it was our privilege to know. His 
fame endures, increases. None shall prevail against it. 

298 [1903 




p o 

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2. M 







g. K 

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Whistler's genius as a decorator is seen in every picture, in every 
drawing he made, though this was not realized in his lifetime. 
When he came to live in London, the Pre-Raphaelites, with William 
Morris as their business man, had set the fashion in decoration and 
they maintained that their work alone was decorative because 
they painted as the painters before Raphael painted. But Cimabue 
and Giotto and the illuminators painted and drew what they 
thought they saw, and so were realists. The greatest decorator who 
ever lived, Pierodella Francesca — from whom the Pre-Raphaelites 
might have learned had they had the brains and the ability, from 
whom Puvis de Chavannes did learn, from whom future artists 
will learn — was the greatest of realists. Whistler, who believed not 
in going back but in carrying on, was as intent as the early Italians 
upon painting what he saw as he saw it, and he relied upon the 
proper placing of his subject within the frame, the distribution of 
his spaces and his lines, to obtain perfect balance, perfect propor- 
tion, perfect repose, and so produce a Harmony, a Symphony, an 
Arrangement — a decoration. His titles explain his methods, the 
results prove that he was right, that there is as true decoration in 
his Falling Rocket as in Botticelli's Spring, though in this as in 
much of his early work he followed the Japanese. But this was 
not understood by his contemporaries — is hardly understood now 
— and he gave no help in his answer to doubters: "I am not 
arguing with you; I am telling you. " 

To complete the decoration, Whistler designed the frames for his 
paintings and prints. He and his assistants decorated them with 
patterns which, for a while, he derived from the Japanese and other 
Orientals. Each was different, for each was suggested by the pic- 
ture it enclosed, though the same feeling ran through all. Later he 
gave up these painted frames and adopted one now known as "the 
Whistler frame," which has become a standard. It was gold — 
green or red, not glaring — with reeded lines for his oils, water- 
colours and pastels; white, sometimes with blue or purple lines or 
patterns, for his etchings and lithographs. His frames and his can- 
vases were of definite sizes, with the result that for every canvas 
there was always a frame that fitted. He went further. He in- 
sisted that the painter must also make of the wall upon which his 
work hung, the room containing it, the whole house, a Harmony, 
a Symphony, an Arrangement, as perfect as the picture or print 
which became a part of it. 


The Whistler Journal 

This may be to us today a simple truth, but it was looked upon as a 
pose, an affectation, at the period when, as Whistler said, "for the 
flock little hamlets grew near Hammersmith," and sad people wore 
sad-coloured garments and sat in Early-English chairs, and ate 
beef and greens off sham Italian majolica, and drank British beer 
out of sham Venetian glass, and covered their walls with Morris 
tapestries or wallpapers so gorgeous that the pattern killed the 
Rossettis and Burne-Joneses alone considered worthy of the back- 
ground, "if the work was not already lost, in the gloom or glitter of 
Pre-Raphaelite stained glass windows. As we look back to out first 
years in England, it seems to us that we never so well understood 
the inappropriateness of it all as when we saw Morris in his blue 
flannels, a picturesque but wholly modern figure, stamping up and 
down the sham mediaeval rooms of his real Georgian house at 
Hammersmith. Whistler had no sympathy with this sort of thing. 
He never tried to live out of his time, and he could not stand the 
stupidity of treating a drawing room in a small Mayfair house as if 
it were a hall in a great mediaeval castle. He was as simple as 
Morris was elaborate, though he did not at once achieve simplicity 
in decoration any more than he at once succeeded in painting with 
the liquid colour of the nocturnes. There was always growth. 
He took his first Chelsea house in 1863 when his interest in Japanese 
art was at its height, and he filled his rooms with screens and lac- 
quer, arranged his blue-and-white on shelves, hung prints, fans, 
kakemonos and plates on his walls. Beautiful use of the screens is 
made in the Princesse du Pays de la Procelaine, beautiful use of the 
detail in the Lange Leizen. A Japanese fan is in the hand of The 
Little White Girl, and Japanese pots on the mantel against 
which she leans. Blue-and-white fills the corner cupboard In the 
Studio. But though he always kept the blue-and-white in his dining 
room, he soon gave up this scheme of decoration, probably because 
he saw what it led to when borrowed by "the thing without" who 
stuck cheap " Japanesisms " all over their houses for no better reason 
than to be in what they thought the fashion. How deeply he felt 
the beauty of Japanese design, and how willing he was to use it, 
we know from the nocturnes with the spray of leaves trailing across, 
or out of the foreground, just where a Japanese artist would have 
placed it. 

But he gave this up too, realizing that the Japanese were wrong, as 
the design did not keep within the frame. Even in the earliest days, 
no matter how much ornament was in his rooms, a flat wash of 
colour was on the walls. In his second Chelsea house, he painted 
the petals of flowers on the dado of the stair-case and conventional 


Whistler as a Decorator 

ships with sails spread on the panels of the hall. But in the rooms, 
pattern never disturbed the simple wall spaces delicately flushed 
with colour. After this, there was never pattern anywhere. He 
preferred colour that would make his rooms bright and gay, the 
first essential in London where often all is dark and dreary with- 
out. He kept his colour flat so that pictures and prints would tell 
upon it and not have to struggle with it. Distemper gave him 
what he wanted, but plain paper could be used. For distemper he 
mixed the colours himself, only too well aware that no house-painter 
could get the right tone though, once he had mixed it, any house- 
painter could put it on. He always thought and said that art has 
nothing to do with the people, and yet it was from the houses of the 
people rather than the palaces of the few, that he derived the idea 
of walls washed simply with simple tones, of dark-stained floors, 
of light or dark dados and doorways contrasting with the walls. 
His simple washes of distemper were the outgrowth of whitewash 
that the people have always used, a development of the beauty 
he had seen in the quiet old houses of New England, that we have 
seen in the houses of Friends in Philadelphia. 

Morris preached art for the people and would run up a bill for 
five thousand dollars in decorating a room and making it so precious 
that the owner hardly dared to go into it. Whistler upheld the 
aristocracy of art, and at the cost of about five dollars would 
arrange a room, beautiful in its simplicity and appropriateness, that 
could be used without fear, since it could be done over again in 
a day. 

He astonished artists who toiled in the complicated splendours of 
huge studios by creating masterpieces in a small bare room. The 
scheme in grey and black of No. 2 Lindsey Row was the background 
of the Mother, the Carlyle, the Miss Alexander. Mrs. Leyland stood 
in the flesh-colour and yellow drawing room and he designed her 
gown to harmonize with it. For this and other portraits, not only 
the colour scheme but the drapery, the minor details of sash and 
bows and rosettes, were of his designing, and the many studies in 
chalks on brown paper which he made for them, remain. With 
him it was not a question of rigging up a corner as it is with the 
artistic photographer and the swell portrait painter. Every room 
was an arrangement and every sitter had to fit in. At times, the 
arrangement was suggested by a visitor as when Rosa Corder, in 
brown dress, passed one of his black doors and he immortalized 
her. Eventually he suppressed the background in most of his por- 
traits and the figures stand in the atmosphere in which he saw 
them. But this atmosphere was obtained not as painters usually 


The Whistler Journal 

get it, by letting all the daylight they can into their studios, but 
by excluding it with curtains and shades. The early studios had 
no skylight. A figure, thus in shadow against a simple wall, takes 
its place in the atmosphere that surrounds it. Sometimes, to 
accentuate the figure, he hung behind it a piece of drapery of the 
colour he wanted. 

Whistler liked his windows big. His curtains were sometimes of 
flowered chintz but oftener of white muslin without pattern. Of 
course there were shades in the studios. On the floor he had a few 
rugs, in the old days Chinese or Japanese; later matting, which he 
designed in harmony with the colour scheme. His furniture was 
simple in form. The first artists and artificers who built palaces, 
he said in his Ten o' Clock, "filled them with furniture beautiful in 
proportion." He designed a few pieces; had he been encouraged 
by commissions he would have done more. Besides the sideboard 
of The Peacock Room, we have seen only the great blue screen with 
the gold moon in the sky, done for Leyland and kept for himself 
and the cabinet with his decorations designed by E. W. Godwin for 
the 1878 Paris Exposition and now owned by Mr. Pickford Waller. 
Towards the end, Whistler's preference was for the furniture he 
called Empire. The white and gold went well with the room. 
There was little of it. He had no patience for contrivances for 
lounging in the drawing room. "When you wanted to lounge," 
he said, "the time had come to go to bed." His extravagance was 
in detail. He ate off the blue-and-white porcelain which he not 
only collected, but made drawings for. Unfortunately, Murray 
Marks never carried out the scheme and only the drawings exist. 
Whistler's beautiful silver was chosen for form, not for rarity. 
"The most beautiful," he used to say, "was Sheffield plate, de- 
signed by artists who were refugees from France and still clumsily 
copied by Britons, and you could find all these beautiful things 
in Wardour Street under the eyes of the Islanders who had not 
been taught to see them." His table linen was marked with the 
Butterfly. He demanded perfection in detail, and rather than 
be without it, would leave rooms unfurnished. "Besides," he said, 
" perfection is death. " 

When Whistler wished, and conditions justified it, he could be as 
gorgeous as he was usually simple. He had only one chance, The 
Peacock Room, but in it he showed the full measure of his powers as 
decorator — the wonderful room with its blue on gold and gold on 
blue, the peacocks flaunting their gold-and-blue plumage on walls 
and shutters and ceiling — the one decoration of Leyland's much- 
decorated house that lives. As decoration, it is unapproached in 



By Whistler 

Owned by P. R. Waller, Esq. 




Q< : ■'(, 




Pennell Collection, Library of Congress 

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Pennell Collection, Library of Congress 



Pennell Collection, Library of Congress 

Whistler as a Decorator 

modern times, and yet nobody gave Whistler the opportunity to 
rival it. He hoped to make this opportunity for himself in the 
White House. Godwin was the architect but there is no doubt that 
Whistler was the designer, and it is the one house he ever owned. 
But he moved into it at the agitated moment of the Ruskin trial 
and moved out before a year had passed, at the more agitated 
moment of his bankruptcy, and when the house was bought at the 
sale by Harry Quilter, "history," he said, "was wiped from 
the face of Chelsea." Therefore, what he might have done in a 
house of his own designing we shall never know. The decoration 
of the houses he lived in grew simpler until there was nothingonthe 
walls, except at times one of his own paintings over the mantel in 
the drawing-room, and in the dining room the beautiful blue-and- 
white on shelves or in cupboards and, hanging from the ceiling, the 
Japanese bird cage above a blue-and-white stand and bowl. This 
is another crime alleged against him by artists, for by his example 
he has stopped intelligent people from hiding their walls behind 
bad pictures. 

In the houses he decorated for his friends he was as restrained as in 
his own and as careful to mix the colours, ever distrustful of the 
British workman. "Why on earth should the workmen think for 
themselves ? " he once asked Mrs. Dr. Whistler, when with two coats 
of yellow on white they made her walls crude and glaring, though 
he had ordered one coat of yellow on grey, knowing that the result 
then "would have been fair and at the same time soft and sweet." 
He kept the furniture as simple as in his own house, or simpler, 
using tables and cane-bottomed chairs painted in harmony with 
the general scheme. We remember one drawing-room in which 
there was a divan covered with linen of the same tint as the walls, 
and on the mantel, as the only ornament, a row of little white 
glasses for the flowers that, change as they might with the season, 
would never strike a discordant note. 

Whistler had no factory, no shop, no staff of salesmen and workmen ; 
he was not in the business as William Morris was. But as a decor- 
ative authority, Morris has grown old-fashioned, while Whistler 
has become a power. Little by little the beauty of the houses and 
studios he arranged for himself and his friends began to be seen, and 
because they were simple and beautiful, those who, seeing, could 
understand, knew they were right, and began to copy them, until 
now his scheme of simplicity in decoration has spread all over the 
world. Everywhere you find studios from which tapestries and 
armour and bric-a-brac have been banished; everywhere rooms 
with the walls washed or papered in a flat tint and only a few 


The Whistler Journal 

paintings or prints hanging upon them, with dark painted or 
stained floors, a few rugs or matting, with little furniture and all 
of it simple; the result is by no means invariably right; it is in such 
houses that "the something on the mantleshelf gives the whole 
show away." Colours mixed by Whistler are one thing; colours 
mixed by manufacturers and artless artists are another, and in 
art, as in literature, everything depends upon quality. 
Whistler's influence has been as marked in picture galleries. It is 
not too much to say that every well-arranged artistic exhibition in 
Europe today owes its inspiration to him; in America, we regret, 
the art of picture hanging is hardly known and has hardly been 
practised save in two or three Whistler exhibitions held since 
Whistler's death, and then not altogether successfully. When he 
began to exhibit, galleries were decorated any how and pictures 
hung as close as they could be fitted from floor to ceiling, artists 
caring little how they were hung so long as their work was on the 
walls. When he sent to the Academy and other exhibitions over 
which he had no control, he had to accept the conditions, but in 
exhibitions over which he had control, he could impose them. "A 
beautiful picture should be shown beautifully," he said; "there- 
fore it must be hung so it can be seen, with plenty of wall- 
space round it, and in a room made beautiful by colour, by sculpture 
judiciously placed, by furniture and decorations and hangings in 
harmony." In his studio he would never show more than one 
picture at a time, never letting it be seen until it was in its frame and 
on the easel. But he understood that the reason for having pic- 
tures in a gallery was to exhibit them, and he sent as many as he 
could, so as to produce an effect. It is well to point this out, for 
his practice in his studio has been misunderstood by some of his 
admirers and imitators. As early as 1874, the arrangement of his 
first exhibition seemed revolutionary to a public debauched by the 
Academy. Always, the colour of the wall, either painted in a flat 
tone or hung with cheese cloth, gave the keynote for the harmony — 
Yellow and White, Brown and Gold, Flesh Colour and Grey — 
which set the foolish public laughing. Sometimes the man at the door 
became part of the scheme, as at the exhibition of the second series 
of his Venetian etchings, when he appeared in yellow-and-white 
livery and was nicknamed in derision, "The Poached Egg." This 
was the exhibition when the public rejoiced in ridiculing Whistler's 
yellow socks and the assistants' yellow neckties, and when Whistler 
presented his friends with Butterflies of yellow silk to wear at the 
Private View. He adapted the ancient velarium to the modern 
gallery, arranging it so that the spectators were all in shadow and 








In the possession of Mrs. Wickham Flower 



Pall Mall Magazine 
(See page 306) 

Whistler as a Decorator 

the pictures all in light, the light falling upon them alone. As he 
said, "Picture galleries lighted at the top are very good for the 
spectators but not for the pictures, for the falling light is reflected 
up from the floor on to the pictures so that they cannot be properly 
seen. " The velarium is a translucent screen, the edges of which are 
allowed to hang down, placed some two or three feet below the 
skylight of the gallery. The light therefore falls upon the pictures 
alone, and everything under the velarium is in shadow. To the 
British Artists it was so alarming as to be a reason for getting rid of 
Whistler. Ten years later it was accepted gladly by the Inter- 
national Society of Sculptors, Painters and Gravers. Another of 
Whistler's innovations was to remove the staring exhibition number 
from the corner of the picture, where generations of stupid painters 
had stuck it, to the wall beside the picture where his system of 
hanging left sufficient space. As a result of all this care, the gallery 
became a beautiful room, showing the work on the wall to the finest 
advantage. His arrangement of galleries has been imitated on the 
Continent, though not always intelligently. In many a German 
secession Whistler's ideas have run riot and gone mad, while when 
the velarium is used it is usually without understanding. 
Whistler designed his invitation cards, his posters, and his cata- 
logues. He introduced the Butterfly on the first invitation card in 
1874, and used the brown paper cover for the catalogue of the same 
exhibition. But it was with his next exhibition, in 1881, that he 
evolved the style of the catalogue to which he adhered, with in- 
creased refinement, until the last of all — the square, brown-paper- 
covered catalogue, in size and shape like his first pamphlet, Art 
and Art Critics, issued in 1878, and his last, the Ten O'clock, in 1888. 
The trouble he took over his pamphlets and catalogues is almost 
unbelievable, and he gave no less to his letters — margins ample, 
the division into paragraphs symmetrical, punctuation effective, 
the Butterfly where it told. 

It is curious to compare his books with those of William Morris, 
who went back to the past, copying old books without considering 
his time. But in Whistler's books there is nothing of the past save 
tradition, nor are they toys for the rich, as the Kelmscott books are. 
Legible type and well-leaded page make easy reading, and Whistler 
published his books to be read, not to be hidden in bookcases. He 
added to the effect by the spacing, the punctuation, the Butterflies, 
and each Butterfly was designed to explain the text to which it re- 
ferred. His title-pages, however, might have gained from the com- 
pactness in the Kelmscott books. 

20 305 

The Whistler Journal 

Morris thought that illustrations must be decorative and he pub- 
lished none that were not imitations of old wood blocks. For 
Whistler there could exist no form of art that was not decorative, 
but neither was any form of decoration to be achieved by going 
back. His illustrations are few and in these few he was true to his 
belief of carrying on tradition. In the series he contributed to 
Once A Week and Good Words, he was no more subservient to the 
methods of other days than in his etchings. More important was 
his series for the Catalogue of Blue and White Nankin Porcelain, 
Forming the Collection of Sir Henry Thompson: drawings finer than 
any of similar subjects by Japanese artists or by Jacquemart, and 
decorative in the placing of each object on the paper, and in every 
touch of the brush with which they were done. Three or four 
drawings were made on the wood with Mrs. Whistler, but never 
engraved, to illustrate Little Johannes, and a few for picture shows. 
In his catalogues and books, save for one or two in The Baronet 
and the Butterfly, his only illustrations are Butterflies, and the 
ornament on the cover is again the Butterfly. For other books 
issued by William Heinemann, his publisher, he designed covers — 
two for Miss Elizabeth Robins' novels, in silver with black note on 
blue or grey, and one for Mr. Charles Whibley's Book of Scoundrels. 
The portfolios to contain his etchings and the photograph of his 
paintings, published by the Fine Art Society and Goupil's, are in 
brown boards with yellow leather backs, like The Gentle Art of 
Making Enemies and The Baronet and the Butterfly. For the 
Jubilee Portfolio given to Queen Victoria as the memorial from the 
British Artists on the occasion of the 1887 Jubilee, he drew the 
nitial letters, head and tail pieces in water colour, but the lettering 
was not his. He designed monograms for friends, usually letters in 
a circle or oval. One of the best was for the International Society 
of Sculptors, Painters and Gravers, the effect obtained by the long 
curves of the S's and the G's, and another was for Mr. Heinemann. 
But of the beauty and expression he could get from a monogram, 
the most delightful and famous example is the Butterfly, evolved 
from the simple interlacing of the letters J. M. W. 
Everything Whistler designed was a work of art, and nothing in his 
art was unimportant. In his decorative work, as in everything else, 
he proved that genius is the capacity for taking pains, and he 
has triumphed. 



Though Whistler's work is his Memorial, the members of the Coun- 
cil of the International Society of Sculptors, Painters and Gravers 
determined to erect a Memorial as durable as bronze could make it 
which would testify their appreciation of their first President. 
They realized that other friends of the man and admirers of his 
work should be consulted and a meeting was called by Mr. Heine- 
mann — Whistler's friend and publisher. It was attended by Mr. 
Lavery, Professor Sauter, J. and Mr. Stirling Lee as Secretary of the 
International. M. Theodore Duret, Mr. Freer, and Mr. George 
Vanderbilt — in London at the time — were also invited. Mr. 
Vanderbilt did not attend and Mr. Freer was scarcely favourable 
to the project. But instead of being disconcerted, the council 
appointed a Committe of the International, consisting of the mem- 
bers of the Society present at the meeting. Mr. William Webb was 
made Honorary Treasurer and Mr. Stirling Lee, Honorary Secre- 
tary. As M. Rodin had in the meanwhile been elected President of 
the Society, and also because of his fame as a sculptor, it was de- 
cided that he should be invited to design the Memorial. Mr. 
Harry Wilson and J. were asked to go to Paris and see M. Rodin. 
This they did after a scheme for the Memorial had been considered 
by the Committee. The idea was that at the western end of the 
Gardens on Chelsea Embankment — the little park looking towards 
the Chelsea in which Whistler had lived and died — there should 
be placed a Winged Victory symbolizing Whistler's triumph — the 
triumph of Art over the Enemies. Rodin agreed with the suggestion, 
for it gave him a splendid opportunity and besides, as he said, 
he had never made a portrait of Whistler and would not think of 
faking one. Rodin offered to undertake the commission without 
charge save for the casting and other technical work, the cost 
of which he estimated at fifty thousand francs, then ten 
thousand dollars. The Society had no such sum, or anything like 
it, and a public subscription was opened. The names of several 
other prominent men were added to the Committee, including 
Lord Plymouth, Lord Grimthorpe, Mr. George Wyndham, Mr. 
Harold Hartley and Mr. David Croal Thomson. It was further 
decided that if a sufficient sum could be obtained, replicas 
should be offered to the City of Paris and to the United States. 
The London County Council was approached and they agreed to 
give the site. This was arranged by Mr. E. J. Horniman, member 
for Chelsea. Then Rodin came to London, went with members of 
the International Society and the London County Council to 
inspect the site, was keen about the project which developed into 


The Whistler Journal 

the larger plan of cutting off the end of the Gardens and, in this 
space, placing a semi-circular — a Roman seat like the seat at the 
base of St. Gaudens' Lincoln in Chicago or those at Pompeii 
and in the centre above it should stand the Winged Victory. Rodin 
was so interested that he said he would go to work at once, though 
there were as yet no funds. 

Subscriptions at first came in slowly, but from all sorts and con- 
ditions of men and women. At the end of two years a certain, 
but not sufficient, sum had- been raised. Then followed the Whistler 
Memorial Exhibition, the most successful one-man show ever 
held in London — another triumph for Whistler. From the profits, 
the International voted a sum of five hundred pounds as their 
tribute to the man who made them as well as modern international 
art in Great Britain. The gift was announced in the press, and the 
public was again invited to subscribe. And it did subscribe, al- 
though in some quarters there was an attempt at opposition, it 
being stated that Whistler wished no memorial of himself by Rodin. 
Why he should object to Rodin, and even to a Memorial, before his 
death, it was hard to understand, though it is true he once said to J. 
he wished to have no portrait, like Rossetti's in the same garden, 
" with a tap in his tummy. " Nor, we are sure, would he have cared 
to figure, like Carlyle, dressed in an ancient toga and seated in a 
modern armchair. Curiously, Sir J. E. Boehm, who did the Carlyle 
was the only sculptor for whom Whistler ever posed. 
About this time also, the Committee was re-constituted, and 
William Heinemann and Joseph Pennell became joint Honorary 
Secretaries. They worked hard and before long the required sum 
was raised for the British Memorial and the American replica as 
well. The United States, that had mostly spurned Whistler until 
his fame was assured, now struggled, not only for his works, but 
to get the Memorial which was awarded to the City of Lowell, 
Massachussetts. Lowell was Whistler's birthplace. The Lowell 
Art Association had purchased the house in which he was born. 
Lowell seemed therefore the most appropriate spot in his own 
country. Besides, Lowell first asked for it, and raised the 
money to pay for it. An American Committee was appointed with 
Mr. Joseph A. Nesmith, Mr. Harrison S. Morris and Mr. William 
M. Chase among its members, and the sum necessary for the Amer- 
ican replica was quickly subscribed in the United States. On the 
other hand, France showed little enthusiasm. The list of sub- 
scribers in Great Britain and the United States was extraordinary 
including almost every one known in art and literature, many 
subscriptions coming from the most unexpected quarters and rang- 




Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

The Whistler Memorial 

ing from sixpence to hundreds of pounds. Among the subscribers 
were twenty members of the Royal Academy, a larger number than 
would have been necessary to elect Whistler and Rodin to that 
body from which they were carefully excluded. Henry James, 
Thomas Hardy, Maurice Hewlett, Austin Dobson, Rudyard 
Kipling, Bernard Shaw, H. G. Wells, Edmund Gosse and George 
Trevelyan were glad to honour the memory of a man for whom 
they had done little during his lifetime. Names of lords and persons 
of title, not a few, were in the first list: Sir W. Martin Conway, 
Lady St. Helier, Sir Hugh Bell, Lord Grimthorpe, the Rt. Hon. the 
Earl of Plymouth, the Viceroy of India, Count Plunkett, Lord 
Redesdale, Lady Archibald Campbell. Dealers there were who 
had believed in him and his work: D. Croal Thomson, Ernest 
G. Brown, Messrs. D. and P. Colnaghi, Messers. Dowdeswell, 
Robert Dunthorne, Messrs. Obach, Messrs. Agnew. Curiously, the 
American and French dealers who made more than any out of his 
work, were conspicuous by their absence from this first list. There 
were Museum Directors: Sir Charles Holroyd of the National 
Gallery, Mr. Lionel Cust of the National Portrait Gallery, Mr. 
Whitworth Wallis of the Birmingham Museum, Mr. Butler Wood 
of Cartwright Hall, Bradford, the only four. Now, every gallery 
clamours for the work of these two artists. At that time it was 
not wanted. There was one art critic — Mr. M. H. Spielmann, F. S. 
A., who just before Whistler's death had done what he could to 
injure him. The worm sometimes does turn. There was a parson, 
a professor, two ambassadors — Whitelaw Reid and Sir Rennell 
Rodd. But, it was from artists and art students who had always 
believed in him, including Whistler's and Rodin's own Society, 
that support really came: the American Art Association in Paris, 
pupils of the Royal College of Art, the London County Council 
Technical Schools, The National Academy of Design alone in 
America. Many of the Artists subscribing were of international 
fame which, great then, has since increased: E. A. Abbey, Paul 
Bartlett, J. E. Blanche, Timothy Cole, Storm Van s' Gravesande, 
James Guthrie, Alexander Harrison, Josef Israels, A. Lepere, John 
Lavery, Gari Melchers, Frederick MacMonnies, William Nichol- 
son, Arthur Rackham, J. F. Raffaelli, Professor Sauter, John 
Sargent, E. J. Sullivan, Fritz Thaulow, E. A. Walton. The list 
it truly international. There were even collectors: J. J. Cowan, 
J. P. Heseltine, H. J. Theobald, Pickford Waller, W. H. Jessop, 
Edmund Davis, Mrs. Potter Palmer, Howard Mansfield. It is 
interesting to note that the names of Charles L. Freer, George H. 
Vanderbilt, Richard Canfield, Henry C. Frick, and other eminent 


The Whistler Journal 

American collectors, who had done much to make themselves 
known through Whistler, did not appear, nor those of most of the 
British and foreign collectors who had been extremely anxious to 
unload their Whistlers, and who did unload them at a phenomenal 
advance, when they found that the works they acquired for 
nothing had become too valuable to keep. 

A special interest was shown in Chelsea, Whistler's home in London, 
a special Chelsea Committee was formed, a special meeting was 
held, and almost all the prominent people of Chelsea came to it on 
July 9, 1907. Lord Plymouth who presided said he looked back 
"with pride on the years Whistler spent in this country and the 
years he lived in Chelsea, and we desire not to be behind hand in 
showing future generations that Mr. Whistler's art was appreciated 
and that we do not forget the many years he spent in Chelsea." 
Lord Redesdale, who in the old Lindsey Row days lived next to 
Whistler, spoke and also Edmund Gosse. Lord Redesdale dwelt 
upon Whistler's love of Chelsea — "He was constant to Chelsea 
to the very end." Mr Gosse's speech was one of the best he has 
ever made. No one could better have explained why there should 
be a Memorial and why Chelsea was the place for it. 
"Why should we raise a monument to Whistler? Largely, I think, 
because he added a sense of beauty to our world. Let no one call 
that a little matter. Beauty and ugliness are not indifferent to us, 
there is all the difference between them that lies beween health and 
languor, between happiness and dulness. Have you ever reflected 
on the positive biological value of beauty? It is stimulating, tonic, 
beneficent; it adds, directly, to the wealth and fulness of our physi- 
cal life. But beauty does not exist till we give it optical recognition, 
and that has to come to us, first of all, from an interpreter. It has 
to come from a heaven-sent interpreter, with a temperament like 
Whistler's, fragile and enduring, sensitive and not sentimental, 
a temperament like a fine steel wire. 

"He steeped London in his new-found beauty, and it is for us to 
return him a little cupful of London homage. When I say London, 
might I not say Chelsea ? 

"There, opposite the old church that he liked to attend, close to 
the brown and shining river, will be set up the memorial to James 
McNeill Whistler, who loved it all more intelligently than any man 
that lived before him, and who taught us to love it. Perhaps on 
blue and glassy summer nights, such as we may almost say that he 
created, his spirit may deign to descend for a moment and hover 
round it, not ill content with the ripening verdict of taste and this 
slight symbol of the triumph of his powerful will. " 


The Whistler Memorial 

Despite the enthusiasm there were complications. The London 
County Council demanded a sketch by Rodin. This the Committee 
refused to ask Rodin to make or to submit, and they told the 
County Council that it would be an honour to London to have the 
only original design it possessed by this sculptor erected in Chelsea. 
For at that time there was nothing by Rodin in London, though 
shortly after a replica of his bust of Henley was put in the crypt 
at St. Paul's. Rodin's only other connection with British art, 
outside the International, was the fact that he had been rejected 
when he submitted his works to the Royal Academy. 
However, the money for the Memorial had all been raised, it was 
invested and trustees were appointed to administer the fund. The 
difficulty now was with the sculptor. Every once in a while, public 
and private inquiries were made as to what had become of the 
Memorial, but the Committee, recognizing Rodin's eminence, 
allowed him to take his time. Now and then he told them what 
was going on but it usually amounted to no more than he wrote in 
a letter to J. towards the beginning of 1906, "The Whistler monu- 
ment is not yet finished." 

He was always delighted with the success of the project and when 
the Lowell Art Association, established in Whistler's birthplace at 
Lowell, announced that they would raise the funds for a replica to 
be erected in that City, he sent the following telegram in November 
1908, addressing it to " Le Gouvernement de Massachusetts a Lowell. " 
"Je m'associe a cette juste et belle reparation envers un des plus 
grands artistes du monde. Uazuvre de Whistler est une des premieres 
et integrales manifestations de fart Americain. Je suis d'autant 
heureux de Vhonneur qui lui est rendu que j'ai ete un de ses amis et 
que fai ete charge du Monument qui s'elevera bientot a Lowell." 
An amusing wire was sent a little later, February 23rd, 1909: 
" Le monument Whistler est le constant souci de mes journees de 
maintenant, d'autant que ce parfait artiste demande une sculp- 
ture reflechie image de son ceuvre. Saluts a la Phalange de 
V Internationale et Homage a Lowell, a London. Hurrah pour les 
bonnes nouvelles.'''' 

In 1908 the Committee asked Rodin for a photograph as they 
understood that he proposed to show his design in that year's Salon. 
What was their surprise on receiving it, and on visiting the Salon, 
to find the triumphal Victory transformed into a Venus climbing 
the mountain of fame, though, in one letter, Rodin described it as, 
a Muse who would hold — she had as yet no arms — or have placed 
near her, a medallion portrait of Whistler. She eventually held a 
box or a lantern, and below it a relief of Whistler's head was placed. 


The Whistler Journal 

Then there was another delay. Either before or after, the Seine, 
rising in Paris and penetrating Rodin's studio, damaged the lower 
part of the figure. The Committee, however, was patient. From 
time to time J. received letters assuring him of the progress of the 
Memorial. This one, dated 7th November, 1913, is characteristic: 
"Mon cher Pennell: 

Le monument Whistler marche vers sa fin. Comme sculpture il est 
bien. Je ne sais si il sera bien a tout -point de vue. 
Patientez encore, car Vhiver jene pensey travailler, je dois m'absenter 
de Paris pour ma sante qui ne supporte plus lefroid. 
Je suis honteuz de ne pas encore etre pret etjefais mes excuses. Rodin. " 
This was not encouraging especially as five years before, June 7th 
1908, Rodin had written Lavery that he needed but five or six 
months more to complete the work. On the 13th of April, 1916, he 
wrote J. in reply to queries from certain subscribers then feeling the 
pinch of war, while the International Society had almost forgotten 
that Whistler was their first President, though they never forgot 
their five hundred pounds, and some of them were beginning their 
endeavours to reclaim the sum. Here is the letter, addressed to J. : 
"Mon cher Ami: 

Le Monument Whistler etait presque fait lorsque la guerre est Venue 
et je n'y ai plus travaille. Cest la premiere chose que je vaisfaire, 
sitot que je serai un pen libre. Je ne peux repondre a vos 
souscripteurs en ce moment, mais six mois apres la guerre terminee 
le monument pourra se mettre d Londres. Ces six mois, je les compte 
pour lafonte du bronze risque a rectifier de quelques mois. Aug. Rodin." 
This is the last time that J., and he believes the Memorial Com- 
mittee, heard from Rodin. After his death, even shortly before it, 
his artistic affairs passed into the hands of M. Leonce Benedite, 
director of the Luxembourg, who would have had the Society accept 
a marble version of the figure substituted by Rodin for the bronze 
Victory he had consented to design. The Committee, wishing to 
know the exact state in which Rodin had left the figure, sent three 
artists, Sir W. Orpen, Augustus John and Derwent Wood, to see 
and report upon it. With the exception of one, who was a painter, 
they agreed that it was "a poor thing," "quite unworthy of Rodin 
and the master it was supposed to perpetuate. " The Whistler Memo- 
rial Committee met again, considered the three reports sent in, 
refused to accept the design, which was but a fragment, a sketch, 
not good at that, and moreover not the design originally arranged 
for with Rodin. This was the second grievous disappointment 
suffered by Rodin's admirers. The Balzac was the first. But this 
is the first time the story has been told. As the money collected 

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Pennell Collection, Library of Congress, Washington 

The Whistler Memorial 

ten years before was given solely for the Rodin Memorial, it was 
returned to the subscribers in the present year. The whole affair 
is regrettable from every point of view. Though Rodin has now 
several replicas of his work in Great Britain and America, no im- 
portant original was made for either of these countries. Whistler 
and Rodin will both live. A Memorial would have done nothing to 
increase Whistler's fame but it would have added to Rodin's. 
Never was an artist given freer opportunity to produce a great 
work, work, which he himself said he delighted in. Never was there 
such a miserable fiasco. Never was such universal support given 
to a great artistic project. This can be seen in the unnumerable 
letters from subscribers. It is interesting to quote from them. 
Sargent was not sympathetic: 

"I must confess to a real antipathy to the idea of artists erecting 
monuments to each other the moment they die. It seems to me to 
have no meaning at all unless it comes from the public and after a 
lapse of years. I also think that Whistler would have hated the 
idea. He never was funnier or more sarcastic than on the subject 
of the monument to Rossetti on Cheyne Walk. I subscribe because 
the work will be by Rodin." 

The lithographer T. R. Way was of Sargent's opinion: "I cannot 
help saying that the purchase of another picture by Whistler would 
be more appropriate to my mind." But later, from the most un- 
looked-for sources came sympathy and subscriptions and tributes. 
Walter Crane hoped that he "might be mentioned with those who 
desire to honour the memory of the artist whose true monument 
must, after all, be in his own works, though, as there is to be a sculp- 
tural monument, no one could be more fitting than M. Rodin to 
carry it out." Sir Alfred East sent a subscription as President of 
theRoyal Society of British Artists — the Society Whistler had made 
Royal. But it was almost the only mark of appreciation. The 
President and Council allowed a subscription list to lie upon the 
table in the Suffolk Street Galleries, but feared that, as few mem- 
bers remembered Whistler as President, and as the times were 
" depressing, " the response might not be as adequate as they would 
like. In sending his contribution, Mr. Frederick MacMonnies 
wrote: "I regret that St. Gaudens was not asked to undertake the 
work, as I do not care for Rodin's portrait statues and I recollect 
that Whistler was of the same opinion. " In another letter, he asked, 
'Why could it not be arranged that Rodin furnishes allegory for 
Paris and London and St. Gaudens model a portrait statue for New 
York? Certainly, one could not find among modern personalities 
a rarer subject for a portrait statue." Storm Van s' Gravesande 


The Whistler Journal 

regretted that his contribution was so little in proportion to 
/' admiration et la sympathie que je ressens pour le talent du grand et 
tant regrette President fondateur de V International Club. That 
wonderful mass of contradictions, Howard Pyle, wrote, "I am not 
very much interested in Whistler. If it were a question of a Whist- 
ler Memorial to Rodin instead of a Rodin Memorial to Whistler, 
I think it would touch me more nearly." He alone among the 
artists — artists of the world — sent such an answer. 
Pyle, however, was equalled or surpassed by laymen, some of 
whose opinions are typical of the attitude of the greater public in 
regard to Whistler, though by this time his fame was assured. 
Clement K. Shorter, an editor of an English paper, could "not 
afford a subscription. There are too many things of this kind going 
round. But I shall be happy to make a note of the affair. If I 
could have a copy of the design, for example, we would reproduce 
it." It has never been reproduced before. More amusing criti- 
cisms accompanied some of the refusals. Francis James, after 
contributing himself, did his best to persuade friends to be as gen- 
erous. But in Devon, "in this barbarous distance from any art 
appreciation, the eyebrow lifted of surprise could only meet any 
demand. The silly rich of my acquaintance absolutely refuse my 
most urgent and graceful appeals on their purses for the Whistler 
fund. The following is a specimen of the answers I get: 'I am 
sorry to disappoint you in the matter of contributing to a monu- 
ment in Whistler's honour. I am not going to shy anything at 
you ! but I do shy at Whistler. Of course I can recognize his genius, 
but the few times I met him he invariably set my bristles up by his 
loud and preposterous demeanor and manner of speech. I dare say 
that if this had not been so offensive, I might have been amused by 
his unbounded conceit,' etc., etc. Poor Jimmy, how little they 
understood him! . ... I am writing to my friend Mr. George Salting 
to try him — but I fear these great collectors are worse than useless — 
they like paint to have dimmed some hundreds of years before they 
honour it by loosing their purse strings. I smiled the other day 
when he showed me a recently acquired Corot that I tried in vain 
to get him to buy years ago at one-third the price he now paid, 
and my ardent desire to lead him toward Whistler only met with 
blank wonder. " 

Another artist, who lived in another part of England, declared that 
"To arouse enthusiasm for Art in our provinces is, I know, about as 
hopeless as kicking a dead horse." Mr Edmund A. New, who did 
subscribe, felt the same way about Oxford where he hardly "knew 
more than half a dozen people interested enough to be likely to 


The Whistler Memorial 

wish to subscribe The only artist I know is so thoroughly a 

Ruskinian that I hardly think it is any use asking him. (Of course 
I am one too!)" But more surprising was the answer of Fred 
Brown, then Slade Professor, whom J. had asked to interest his 
students in the Memorial. Mr. Brown wrote that "the present 
generation of students do not know anything in an intimate sort of 
way of Whistler's work and genius. " J. suggested to him that their 
ignorance or indifference could easily "be remedied by the profes- 
sors and lecturers devoting some slight attention to this not alto- 
gether unimportant matter." He also found the same state of 
affairs in the notions of the Directors of the Art Students League, 
New York, where he was told Whistler was not the fashion, and 
fashion now bosses American Art. 

Amusing protests came from Chelsea. One man was " too much out 
of sympathy with Whistler and Rodin to join" in the movement. 
A second could not say that he "appreciated the work of the late 
Mr. Whistler to the same extent as many of his admirers." A 
third was shocked at the price, double the sum needed by his Vicar 
to keep the Church Schools open: "I consider that the re-building 
of the schools is a much more important matter than the raising of a 
memorial to the late Mr. Whistler at a cost of two thousand pounds, 
which appears to me to be an enormous sum fbr the purpose. " 
A writer of an anonymous letter thought it an outrage to have been 
asked: "Do you think the inhabitants of Chelsea propose to con- 
tribute to a monument to this scoundrel? If erected, we will 
destroy it. " Must have been Mrs. Pankhurst. Judging from what 
the British vandals did to Sargent's portrait of Henry James in the 
Royal Academy, they very likely would. Rodin was at times the 
objection. An old friend of Whistler's decided "I had much rather 
not. Of course I think that Whistler should have public recognition, 
but I look upon Rodin with very incomplete satisfaction." Sculp- 
ture was the stumbling block to citizens who had not known him: 
"Whistler was a Bohemian of genius and some of his work will 
probably be more and more prized as time goes by, but I recoil from 
a statue. We are burdening the earth with too many statues and 
even Rodin's co-operation will not tempt me to join the Com- 
mittee." And there was a P. S. — "My wife is of the same opinion." 
Or the scheme of the Memorial seemed too ambitious for a mere 
artist. One lord protested "I am really not in sympathy with the 
effort to get together so much money. An artist makes his own 
memorial, and something much more modest would surely be 
enough to record Whistler locally." Another lord was still more 


The Whistler Journal 

blunt: "I did not know Whistler when he lived in Tite Street and 
do not propose to take any part in the Memorial. " 
Americans in London were not over responsive. The American 
Society was appealed to. The Secretary acknowledged the letter, 
said it would be placed before the Committee at the next meeting, 
a proceeding which yielded the same splendidly negative result as 
the List of Subscribers laid upon the table in the Galleries of the 
British Artists. Now they would fall over themselves to get in. 
The Society of American Women never answered the letter sent 
them. Of what Americans in America did, we have already 
spoken. Lowell was practical and generous, and Mr. Nesmith, 
President of the Lowell Association, was justified in thinking 
and writing that Lowell had done its part. The United States 
Government, though not asked directly for its support, indirectly 
interfered with what might have been one large and help- 
ful subscription. Messrs. Carneigie and Rockefeller refused. 
However, despite disappointments and drawbacks and refusals, the 
project prospered. As time went on more people of note sub- 
scribed. Among literary men now were George Meredith, William 
M. Rossetti, John Galsworthy, Theodore Duret, Robert Ross, and 
among actors, Squire Bancroft and Beerbohm Tree. Other con- 
tributors were, the Lord Provost of Glasgow, Mrs. Potter Palmer, 
andT. R. Way. 

It must be understood that the failure of the monument was en- 
tirely Rodin's fault. He consented to carry out the design sug- 
gested by the Committee. A public site was granted. The sum 
he named was secured. The Society waited patiently so long as he 
lived. After he died the endeavour was made to induce the Commit- 
tee to accept a figure that, had they accepted it, would have been 
refused by the London County Council. It was rejected not by a 
committee of laymen but by a committee of artists sent from Lon- 
don to Paris to see it, and the unfinished Muse still stands in the 
Hotel Biron. The whole failure was due to Rodin's failure to carry 
out what he had agreed to do, but had left undone during the 
fourteen years that elapsed between Whistler's death and his own. 


While this volume was being prepared for the printers, we were 
presented with a series of valuable documents to add to our col- 
lection of Whistleriana in the Library of Congress. At the re- 
quest of Judge E. T. Parry, of the British Bar, son of Mr. Serjeant 

The Papers in Whistler v. Ruskin Action 

Parry, Whistler's counsel in the Whistler v. Ruskin suit, Messrs. 
Walker, Martineau and Co., Ruskin's solicitors, sent us the 
Ruskin papers in the case which had been in their possession since 
the trial. These make our record complete, for, already, all the 
papers on Whistler's side had come into our possession. 
The Whistler papers include not only the Brief, the writs, the vari- 
ous other legal matter for which clients pay so dear, but forty 
letters from Whistler to his solicitor, Mr. T. Anderson Rose. Char- 
acteristic of Whistler as these letters are, the Brief is the most 
important document in the history of the trial. There is much in 
it that never came out in Court and, supplemented as it is by the 
Ruskin papers, there is now not a stage in this famous law suit that 
cannot be followed — a record for all time. 

Whistler's Brief is dull reading, so that the wonder is what Whistler 
thought of it, and if Serjeant Parry ever read it through. Certainly, 
he made no use of its strongest arguments. That Anderson Rose 
toiled over it we know, for we have also his first draft, full of cor- 
rections and omissions, whole paragraphs struck out, everywhere 
signs of the labor that went in to the finished document. Probably 
he worked too hard, found a draw-back in the mass of good ma- 
terial and the many good suggestions Whistler probably made. 
The material is excellent, but legal language is dry and the language 
is mainly the lawyers. It begins with a concise statement of who 
Whistler was — "of Irish decent, American parentage, Russian 
birth, Parisian education, now domiciled in England" — and a 
short account of the work he had done. It goes on to explain the 
libel; the exhibition by Whistler of pictures in the first Grosvenor 
Gallery in the spring of 1877, and the criticism of them by Ruskin 
in the July number of Fors Clavigera for the same year. The libel- 
lous paragraph is quoted, the libel contained in the last sentence: 

"I have seen and heard much of cockney impudence before now, but never ex- 
pected to hear a coxcomb ask two hundred guineas for flinging a pot of paint in 
the public's face." 

Then the tables are neatly turned on Ruskin — the idea must have 
been Whistler's — by showing that the great man, who is so sensi- 
tive to what he considers the overcharge for work by others, is 
guilty of the same enormity himself. Fors Clavigera consists of 
only twenty-four very widely printed pages and nine pages of 
notes and correspondence, and yet this he sells at "the exaggerated 
price of tenpence, without abatement on quantity." Ruskin 
described its contents as "letters to the workmen and labourers of 
Great Britain," which is "a gross misrepresentation" for, says the 


The Whistler Journal 

Brief, there are no workmen and labourers in Great Britain who 
could afford to pay the price. The number containing the libel is 
filled with "scandal and twaddle." Ruskin advertises in it "the 
St. George's Company," an enterprise of his own, in which he is 
the despot, forbidding the use of steam and machinery, determining 
what books members shall read and what dress women shall wear, 
even imposing a religion upon the tenants of his Company's estate. 
Libels are scattered through the pages and "without the slightest 
apparent connection, he drags in the names of people to cover them 
with abuse or insult or filth"; now dishonouring the memory of 
Harriet Martineau, now calling Goldwin Smith a goose, mixing him 
up with the adulteration of butter, flying off at a wild tangent to 
Isaiah VII: 15, flying back to a nice girl waitress who described for 
him the adulteration of honey with carrots, again returning to 
Goldwin Smith, the goose, and from him wandering to Sir Henry 
Cole who "has corrupted the system of art teaching all over Eng- 
land into a state of abortion and falsehood from which it will take 
twenty years to recover." This is "the sort of publication Fors 
Clavigera is," and the sort of writer Ruskin is, and the question 
may be at once asked whether his attack on Mr. Whistler is in any 
sense art criticism, or is it not a gross libel. Then the answer: — 

"Mr. Ruskin says that Mr. Whistler is 'ill-educated and conceited', and a 'wilful 
imposter.' He is a 'Cockney, impudent and a Coxcomb' who 'asks 200 Guineas 
for flinging a pot of paint in the public's face.' 

"It is confidently asserted that there is not one single word of the above which has 
a reference to art criticism. It may be said that part of it is vulgar abuse and it may 
possibly be admitted that to call a man a 'Coxcomb,' a 'Cockney," ill-educated' 
and 'impudent,' is vulgar abuse, but, take all these epithets together and con- 
nect them with the charge of wilful imposture and endeavouring to obtain 200 
Guineas in the way described by Mr. Ruskin, it is contended is a libel and a libel of 
the very worst type. 

"Those who know Mr. Whistler intimately would, of course, feel the deepest indig- 
nation of contempt and perhaps nothing more, not against Mr. Whistler, but against 
Mr. Ruskin and, but for Mr. Ruskin's age and known infirmities, a man if he has no 
redress at law might be tempted to avenge himself personally. An Artist lives in 
an atmosphere of opinion, he finds his bread slip away from him, his position as an 
Artist changes speedily from competence not to say affluence into indigence and 
poverty, a result which might be entirely brought about by the malignant abuse of 
Mr. Ruskin, and the certain following which Mr. Ruskin's known powers of 
vituperation, as well as criticism, will be sure to have from the envious and from all 
the cowardly part of mankind. 

"Mr. Ruskin's opinions are accepted as Gospel on matters of art, not solely by 
the cowardly and the envious, but by many patrons of art and purchasers of 
pictures, and there can be no doubt that his expressed opinion in Fors Clavigera 
is calculated to do Mr. Whistler great pecuniary injury. The extent of Mr. 
Ruskin's influence is already shown in innumerable references to the article in 


i c o^ V. 



Pennell Collection, Library of Congress 

The Papers in Whistler v. Ruskin Action 

the newspapers, by 'the sort of newspaper sheep who follow the critic whom 
they consider the ram of Art Criticism.' The World thinks the paragraph 
about Mr. Whistler 'pleasant reading' and means to subscribe to Fors Clavi- 
gera. The Academy refrains from quoting, but suggests that a single number of 
Fors Clavigera can always be had for tenpence. One after another they fell in 
line and even when Mr. Ruskin's remarks are denounced as 'things to regret,' 
as in The Daily News, attention is still called to Fors Clavigera and so brings it 
into demand. 'There is no doubt that this particular number was more no- 
ticed and extracted from by the Press than any other number had ever been, 
solely because it contained this libel on Mr. Whistler' and, as a consequence, it 
reached a far wider audience than ever before. The passage referred to in The 
Daily News should not be forgotten, Whistler's champions at the time being so 
few. Here is a part of it : 

"When Ruskin speaks of Artists and scholars as coxcombs and geese and tells the 
world what animal, or what critic, he would like to be at the hour of luncheon, every- 
one, as a rule, feels that this is only 'pretty Fanny's way.' But to mix these 
flowers of speech with more commercial criticism is not only to interfere with the 
laws of supply and demand for which Mr. Ruskin cares nothing, but to infringe on 
the courtesies of literature. These laws of literary courtesy have been a 'late 

conquest of culture,' to use an affected but useful piece of slang 

"Audacity and incompetence, if they exist, can still be snubbled and made to find 
their level without any such brave words as Mr. Ruskin employs. If Salvator Rosa 
had lived, even in extreme old age, to the present day he might have given his critic 
cause to remember that knives have edges, and that men may sleep and may have 
their throats about them at the same time. The time for that sort of repartee has 
gone by and, with the disappearance of artists as well able to take care of their repu- 
tation as Benvenuto Cellini was, the ever plain spoken criticism too, might be al- 
lowed to fall silent. " 

We wonder if American lawyers put such amusing asides in 
their Briefs. 

Though Anderson Rose had not the talent to make the most of 
all this material, to the unlegal mind the argument running through 
it seems unanswerable and too valuable to be passed over. But not 
so to the legal mind. Ruskin was treated in court as the privileged 
being he believed himself. Ridicule was the weapon reserved by the 
other sideandfor Whistler,whose counsel ignored Ruskin,the writer 
of nonsense and malice, to defer to Ruskin as the "gentleman," 
well known to us all, with perhaps the highest reputation in Europe 
or America as art critic, some of his work destined to immortality. 
Less too was made of Ruskins's unwarrantable attack upon Whist- 
ler's prices, without which there would have been no case for libel, 
than the unfair and ungentlemenly way in which the "gentleman" 
had spoken of the plaintiff. The junior counsel, Mr. Petheram, 
would probably have brought this point out more emphatically. 
His opinion, quoted in the Brief, dwelt especially upon the neces- 
sity of having: 


The Whistler Journal 

"As many witnesses as possible of position and known taste in readiness, even if it 
should not be possible to call them to state that Whistler holds a well-known position 
and that his works, though they may not please some critics, are of great and 
recognized merit. Artists, Picture Dealers and Art Critics will be the best witnesses 
for this purpose. " 

The picture dealers could have been wanted for no other reason 
than to testify upon this question of price, but though many were 
chosen none were called. A fact the Brief discloses is that, at the 
eleventh hour the difficulty was to be sure of any witnesses at all, 
except Albert Moore who was faithful from beginning to end. 
Whistler tried to take it lightly, though it was no light matter. He 
wrote to Anderson Rose on the subject on November 21, 1878, 
only four days before the trial, but even then he treated it as of 
secondary importance. For he began by stating again his view of 
the case and suggesting another important note for Serjeant Parry 
— that he is known, and always has been known, for his independent 
position in art and for the Academy's opposition to him — that this 
would account for any evidence Academicians might give against 
him, and for an offer Academicians seem to have made to paint 
one of his pictures in five minutes — that his art was something 
apart, for which reason he did not need a large number of witnesses. 
And then, at last, he gives Anderson Rose good names that occur 
to him: Holmes, Librarian at Windsor Castle; Reid of the British 
Museum Print Room; Charles Keene; Tissot and what of the 
Rev. Mr. Haweis who had preached the beauty of The Peacock 
Room? What of Prince Teck who might answer for it? Though 
Boehm and Albert Moore ought to be enough. The cause of this 
anxiety was the withdrawal at the last moment of men who had 
agreed to go into the witness box. We had always heard that 
Leighton was among those who promised, and we never knew why 
he failed to appear until, in the mass of the Whistler documents, we 
came upon Anderson Rose's "Costs." The entry is for November 
23d, Saturday, and the trial was set for the following Monday: 

"Attending you almost the whole day, conferring on evidence and it appeared 
that Mr. Leighton refused to attend as he was going to be knighted on Monday. 
Mr. Burton also refused. . . ." 

That was the last engagement Leighton would have broken. Albert 
Moore, William Michael Rossetti, and W. G. Wills gave evidence 
for Whistler. But if one of the artists and one of the art critics, 
whose presence the junior counsel considered essential in the wit- 
ness box, put in an appearance, not one art dealer was heard from. 
And yet, Mr. Algernon Graves was in court, waiting to be called. 

The Papers in Whistler v. Ruskin Action 

Mr. Bernard Oswald Colnaghi's evidence had been prepared in a 
Plaintiff's Proof given with the others in the Brief. He was willing 
to swear that Whistler's Nocturne in Blue and Gold was a most 
extraordinary and wonderful picture; that the libellous passage in 
Fors Clavigera was not fair criticism but libellous and a false account 
of Whistler and his work; that Whistler had had a very extensive 
education in art both in England and France; that the libel was 
"calculated to do Whistler great professional damage, stop the 
sale of his pictures or cause them to be sold at a greatly depreciated 
price." This was evidence a jury could have understood from a 
man whose business was to buy and sell and therefore worthy of 
their respect. But Mr. Colnaghi was not called. The failure to 
emphasize this question of price may be one reason why the jury 
valued the damages at the farthing Whistler never got, so often 
described as hanging on the watch chain he never wore. 
The description of the trial we do not give, for Whistler's report of 
it, with his comments, is in the Gentle Art of Making Enemies, and 
in our Life of Whistler. But the legal side has never been published 
before, was not known to exist. 

The Brief for Ruskin is shorter and less dry for, incorporated in it, 
are Ruskin's and Burne-Jones' own statements. Ruskin, in his, 
worked out carefully for his solicitors, his theories of art upon which 
the libellous criticism was based and the solicitors must have known 
they could not improve upon it. Ruskin evidently proposed to 
publish this. With some additional matter in the opening para- 
graph, references to the farthing damage and the four hundred 
pounds the law suit cost his friends, and under the title My Own 
Article on Whistler, it was found after his death among his mss. at 
Brantwood. A copy of it he had sent to Charles Eliot Norton on the 
second morning of the trial. But, as far as we know, it was never 
published until Sir. E. T. Cook included it as an Appendix of the 
second volume of Fors Clavigera in The Library Edition of the Works 
of John Ruskin. There, the chances are, it remained and might 
have continued to remain unread, interest in Fors Clavigera having 
been exhausted long since though not interest in the trial, had not 
Judge Parry happened to see the Brief, read it with the very special 
interest of the son of the counsel for Whistler, and contributed an 
article on it to The Cornhill for January, 192 1. In this he spoke of 
the additional interest there would be if Whistler's side had also 
been preserved. We wrote and told him that it had been, that the 
documents were in our possession. It was then he succeeded in 
obtaining the Ruskin papers for us that they might be preserved 
with the Whistler papers in the Library of Congress. 

21 321 

The Whistler Journal 

Ruskin's memorandum is a convincing proof that he had really 
worked out his defence himself, that he had summed up what he 
meant to say when he wrote to Burne-Jones that the trial would 
be "nuts and nectar" to him because, in the witness box through 
the newspaper reports, he could get his views before the public as 
he never could by writing. When the time came, however, he was 
not well enough to appear. Both sides wanted him. He wanted to 
testify. Whistler, loving an open fight and having a sense of hu- 
mour, wanted so much to hear his testimony that he proposed 
Ruskin should be subpoenaed. There were several postponements 
because of his mental and physical condition. Though Whistler's 
writ was issued on July 28, 1877, the case did not come into court 
until November 25, 1878, and even then his doctor would not let 
Ruskin attend. In his absence this statement was not read. 
The main contention in his defense is that the paragraph in Fors 
Clavigera was no libel but justified by facts. He pointed out that 
the function of the critic was to recommend Authors and by this 
he meant also Artists, of merit to public attention and to prevent 
Authors of no merit from occupying it. "All good critics delight 
in praising as all bad ones in blaming." His description of Whist- 
ler's work and character was accurately, absolutely, true, so far as 
it reached, and so far as it was accepted was calculated to be 
extremely beneficial to Whistler and still more to the public. 

"I have spoken of the plaintiff as ill-educated and conceited — because the very 
meaning of education in an artist is that he should know his true position with 
respect to his fellow workmen and ask from the public only a just price for his 
work. Had the plaintiff known either what good artists gave habitually of labour 
to their pictures or received contentedly of pay for them, the price he set on his 
own productions would not have been coxcombry, but dishonesty. I have given 
him the full credit of his candid conceit and supposed him to imagine his pictures 
to be really worth what he asked for them. And I did this with the more con- 
fidence because the titles he gave them showed a parallel want of education." 

That the price an artist asks for his work is nobody's affair but his 
own and the purchaser's, would never have been questioned by any 
critic less pontifical and autocratic than Ruskin. But it should 
be pointed out that Whistler had been getting the prices which were 
so exasperating to Ruskin, that, curiously, the picture Ruskin 
criticized was the only one for sale, and that Burne-Jones was at 
this very period asking far higher prices. But how the situtation 
has changed! 

Ruskin continues his memorandum by explaining that his standard 
for the estimate of the relative value of pictures depended on the 
justice and clearness of the ideas they contained, a fact he had 



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Mi!. 7.ISKIX. 



By M. Bryan in "Judy" 

The Papers in Whistler v. Ruskin Action 

especially dwelt upon lately for the benefit of the modern schools 
"which conceive the object of Art to be ornament rather than edi- 
fication." He did not consider it unreasonable in a critic to "re- 
quire of a young painter that he should show the resource of his 
mind no less than the dexterity of his fingers," and he thought the 
critic might, without libellous intentions, "recommend the specta- 
tor to value order in ideas above arrangement in tints, and to 
rank an attentive draughtsman's work above a speedy plasterer's." 
He can be agreed with when he condemns patronage of incompetent 
artists for charity's sake, and "the corresponding effort of large 
numbers of the middle classes, under existing conditions of social 
pressure, to maintain themselves by painting and literature without 
possessing the smallest natural faculties for either. ..." That advice 
might be taken very seriously in the United States today. Then 
he loses himself again, recalling flourishing periods, whether of 
trade or art, when the dignity of operative merchant and artist was 
held alike to consist in giving each in their several functions good 
value for money and a fair day's work for a fair day's wage. And 
he finishes by announcing his intention, whatever might be the 
issue of the action, to retire from public life, a retirement to which 
he was before sufficiently inclined by the langour of advancing age. 
Afterwards he wrote, in still plainer language, to Dean Liddell that 
it was better to refer his resignation of the Slade Professorship to 
its real cause "which is virtually represented by this Whistler 
trial. " All the same, five years later he made known his willingness 
to accept if the post was again offered him, as it was, and he ac- 
cepted, no doubt thinking that he had lived down the trial and 
its consequences. 

In this memorandum, we have the real views upon art of the British 
public of the time through the mouth of its prophet. Ruskin's 
justification was more outrageous than the original libel. It would 
not be surprising for his criticism to be considered strong speaking 
today, the courage to'express any save amiable approval amiably 
having long since gone out of fashion. But even at the time, when 
courage in criticism was more common, it was thought that Ruskin 
had gone too far. His junior counsel, Mr. Bowen, said so bluntly in 
his Opinion. Such language was, in his words, "exceedingly tren- 
chant and contemptuous. . . .Mr. Ruskin must not be surprised if 
he loses the verdict. I should rather expect him to do so." The 
truth is Ruskin was mad, he had been subject to intervals of mad- 
ness for some years past. His friends would have been kinder had 
they restrained him from writing during these intervals, and he 
wiser had he, in his lucid moments, destroyed all the nonsense 


The Whistler Journal 

he had written. His madness is the orly excuse for hisconduct,from 
his first attack upon Whistler until he accepted money to pay his 
costs from sentimental admirers, for his acceptance was a virtual 
admission that he still believed the libel justified. 
It has often been said that Whistler suffered little from the neglect, 
misunderstanding or ill-will of his comtemporaries — that he exag- 
gerated things. But no one can doubt the ill-will and misunder- 
standing after reading Ruskin's memorandum, still less after 
reading Burne-Jones'. The solicitors state in their Brief that they 
had applied to several Academicians for an opinion of Whistler, but 
had been refused, a refusal they attributed less to Academic appre- 
ciation of Whistler's work than to Academic disinclination to give 
evidence against a fellow artist no matter how bad his work might 
be. Burne-Jones, however, had no such scruples. He not only 
wrote out his opinion, but wrote it with a venom of which we 
would not have suspected him. Ruskin, it is true, puffed and 
boomed him, bought his work, paid his travelling expenses and his 
wife's on long journeys to delightful places, but gratitude for these 
favours hardly called for such an extremeof rancour against an artist 
who could in no sense be a rival. It seems the more venomous 
because the memorandum was for counsel alone, while, when he 
was in court with reporters taking down his testimony, he qualified 
his criticism, admitting there was still art in recent Nocturnes, 
recognizing Whistler's power, in the present as in the past, to sug- 
gest atmosphere and beauty of colour. His one other published 
opinion of Whistler is in his Life by Lady Burne-Jones, and in this 
he refers to Whistler an as artist whose technique was perfect and 
colour always good. He naturally could not foresee that his con- 
fidences to the lawyers would ever be revealed to the public in 
print. But his attitude was not exceptional among Whistler's 
contemporaries and to read Burne-Jones' memorandum, together 
with Ruskin's, is to discover in Whistler's defiance during the 
stormiest years of his life less of the mystery that has been made of 
it. And it might be a good thing if recent American authorities 
had had a little bit of knowledge of the man they were writing 
about, or the brains to understand what they read. Or is it the 
everlasting anglomania? 

What Burne-Jones thought was this: that scarcely anybody re- 
garded Mr. Whistler as a serious person;that for years past he had so 
worked the art of brag as to succeed among the semi-artistic public. 

"But amongst artist his varieties and eccentricities have been a matter of joke of 
long standing." There was at first sufficient excellence in his work to make artists 
look forward to his future, but the qualities he possessed appeared to be soon 


The Papers in Whistler v. Ruskin Action 

exhausted and it was long since further fulfillment had been expected. He was 
notoriously without principle or sentiment of the dignity of his art. "It is a jest 
but a fact that he has been ceaseless in all company for years past in depreciating 
the work of all artists, living or dead, and, without any shame at all, proclaim- 
ing himself as the only painter who has lived" — "he has a perfect estimate of the 
value of this trumpeting" — "he has never yet produced anything but sketches 
more or less clever, often stupid, sometimes sheerly insolent — but sketches always 
— not once has he committed himself to the peril of completing anything." 
"That Whistler should be an incomplete artist concerns himself alone, but that 
for years past he should have been proclaiming this incompleteness to be the only 
thing worth attaining concerns art itself and all artists, and Ruskin's forty years 
of striving to raise his country's skill would have ended tamely if he could have 
quietly let pass Mr. Whistler's theory and practice." Whistler's plan has been 
to found a school of incapacity — his work has the merit that one sees in the work 
of a clever amateur — There is often not so much appearance of labour in one of 
his pictures as there is in a rough sketch by another artist and yet he asks as 
much for one of those as most artists do for pictures skillfully and conscientiously 
finished — Mr. Ruskin's language is justified on the grounds of the scandal that 
this violent puffing of what is at best a poor performance brings upon art. "If 
any one caring, as, Mr. Ruskin does, for the question of art could think this 
meaningless scribbling should be looked upon as real art, for admiration and 
reward, I think he might lay his pen down and never write again, for art would 
be at an end." 

That Burne-Jones could have been guilty of such a misconception, 
such a misrepresentation of Whistler could hardly be believed were 
it not there, written out plainly, in the Brief. Whistler, who had 
done nothing to fulfill his first early promise, from whom further 
fulfillment had long ceased to be expected who had never produced 
anything but sketches, had then painted and exhibited the Mother, 
the Carlyle and the Miss Alexander, The White Girl, The Little White 
Girl, and the elaborate Japanese Series, to say nothing of the Noc- 
turnes reviled by Ruskin — and several of these paintings were in 
the Grosvenor and shown at the trial. We knew that Burne-Jones 
was not in sympathy with Whistler's work, but we had not fancied 
him so blinded by narrow prejudice, and we wondered why he was 
so upset when we told him how his work interested Whistler. Nor 
does it seem possible that the perversion of the "Why drag in 
Velasquez" story could have been anything save intentional. 
That Whistler held himself to be the only painter who ever lived, 
and said so, is farcical to those who knew his reverence for the 
Old Masters and generous appreciation of contemporaries whose 
work he thought good. No less unpardonable is the representation 
of Whistler as notoriously without principle or sentiment for the 
dignity of his art. It was his care for the dignity of art that had 
made him force Ruskin into the law courts. Nor could Ruskin's 
solicitors have doubted it after one experience with him during the 


The Whistler Journal 

preparations for the trial. They had demanded to see the pictures 
he had shown at the Grosvenor. Whistler objected. He was not 
going to allow anybody to discuss and criticize his pictures — were 
the persons who asked proper experts? ^Was not the whole thing a 
question of Pure Law, not of Criticism? The Court, however, 
gave the solicitors for the defence an Order for Inspection, and then 
they demanded to have the pictures brought to Anderson Rose's 
office. Whistler was outraged. He might have to obey the ruling 
of the law, but his pictures were not to be shown in any accidental 
or promiscuous manner — pictures were not to be handled about 
like samples of butter to be inspected by chance experts in the mar- 
ket place, and his were to be shown properly hung as they were 
when first seen by Mr. Ruskin, his studio was the fit place with 
proper light; to his studio Messrs. Walker, Martineau could come 
— and to his studio, accordingly, they went, which must have 
given them a better idea of an artist's respect for the dignity of his 
art than Ruskin's preaching and Burne-Jones' malice. The same 
spirit of malice seems to have inspired the selection for details — 
"circumstances" — useful for counsel in cross-examination. The 
story of Whistler's quarrel with Haden eleven years before in Paris 
was dug up, together with his expulsion from the Burlington 
Fine Arts Club which was the result, though nothing is said of the 
fact that Dante Gabriel and William Michael Rossetti were so 
indignant that they immediately resigned in protest. The descrip- 
tion of the materialized spirits or figures in a London fog he painted 
as portraits was resurrected from the Times, probably Tom Taylor's 
— and TomTaylor and Frith were the only two other witnesses that 
Ruskin could get, though he had hoped for Leslie, Richmond and 
Marks. The decoration of The Peacock Room is wilfully con- 
fused with The Gold Scab — "he painted the walls with what he 
called Devil Peacocks, being things with Devils' heads and Pea- 
cocks' bodies, and on the tails he painted sovereigns intended, as 
he stated, to represent Mr. Leyland's wealth" — and of course, all 
that can be is made of the differences with Leyland over the ques- 
tion of payment. Altogether, the Ruskin Brief is an amazing 
document and does not present the Whistler v. Ruskin case as a 
creditable incident in Ruskin's career. The fact that Whistler 
was an American may have had something to do with the personal 
feeling shown. No American artist has gone to England who has not 
had to fight, who has not had a hard time of it. Even though West 
became President of the Royal Academy, it was by no means always 
easy for him, and members have often wished the others who have 
followed him into the Academy out of the way and their places 

The Papers in Whistler v. Ruskin Action 

filled by natives. Among the papers are copies of Punch, with comic 
reports of the trial, and it's sneers at "the Anglo-American Artist" 
prove what we have said completely. 

The Whistler-Ruskin documents, though legal, still live with the 
passions and turmoil of the days long dead when the virtue of art 
was in the subject and its value measured by the time and labour 
spent upon it. Pictures were for edification, for conscientious toil 
the artist was given his reward. Art was lost in the maze of moral- 
ity, genius could not contend with industry. When Whistler fought 
the false gods of his generation, it was thought he was fighting for 
the fun of it. How strong the enemy was, and what a good fight he 
made is recorded in these documents which it has been our privilege 
to place safely in the Library of Congress. Even at the time, un- 
friendly to him as was the outlook, Whistler, with his knowledge 
of a lifetime, won the case — though not without the farthing sneer 
for the victory — and the result was not "nuts and nectar" but gall 
and vinegar for J. R. Oxon. And now Ruskin has more fame as an 
artist than as an author and Burne-Jones is near forgotten, and 
Whistler has triumphed all over the world. 



Abbey, Edwin, A., 213, 295, 297, 309. 

Abbey, Mrs. Edwin A., 13,296. 

Abbott, Mrs. (See. Jo.) 

Abram,Mr., 72,147,168. 

Academie Carmen, 15, 32, 33, 35, 58, 71, 

244, 254, 256. 
Addams, Clifford, 34, 37, 246 256,272. 
Addams, Mrs. C, 26, 27, 33, 35, 37, 254, 

257, 266, 272. 
Adler, Elmer, 127, 129. 
Agnew, Messrs., 309. 
Alexander, John. W., 164,228. 
Alexander, Dr. L. C, 158. 
Alexander, Miss May, 134. 
Alexander, W. C, 109, 129, 134. 
Allingham, H., 175. 
Alma-Tadema, Sir Laurence, 122, 169, 

194., 197, 198, 230, 236, 241, 296. 
Altman, W. R., 99. 
American Hall of Fame, 221. 
Americaine, V , 163. 
Andrews, Mr., 2. 
Andalouse L', 199 
Andromeda, 171 
Ape's and Spy's cartoons, 6. 
Archer, William, 295. 
Architectural Review, The, 71, 72,147. 
Armand-Dayot, Inspecteur Generate des 

Beaux- Arts, 16. 
Armstrong, M., 29. 
Armstrong, Sir Walter, 38,39. 
Art and Art Critics, 78, 305. 
Arts and Crafts Exhibition Society, 34. 
Arts Club, 3,202. 
Art Journal's Paris Exhibition Number, 

The, 191. 
Art Journal, The, 192. 
ArtNouveau, L', 73. 
Art Worker's Guild, 78, 81, 148, 251, 

Ashbee, C.R., 237, 238, 241, 246, 247, 250, 

Astor, W. W., 30. 
Astruc, editor of U Artiste, 91. 
Atalanta in Calydon, 28. 
Athenaeum Club, 10, 139, 259. 
Aubert, M.,91. 
Augustine, 194, 202, 206, 208, 211, 212, 

220, 223, 225, 231, 235, 236, 296. 
Avery, S. P., 2. 
Axenfeld, M., qi. 

BACHER,Otto H., 165. 

Bachimont, Madame, 86. 

Baden-Powell, Major-General, 169. 

Balcony, The, 137. 

Bal Bullier, 92. 

Bargello, The, 47. 

Barrie, Sir J. M., 9, 179. 

Barthe, 117. 

Bartlett, Paul, 309. 

Bartlett, Mrs. Paul W., 156. 

Barye.C, 55. 

Baronet and the Butterfly, The, 19, 20. 

Batliers, Courbet's, 162. 
Battersea, Lord, 109. 
Batter sea Bridge, 120, 130, 137. 
Bate, Miss Inez, (See Mrs. C. Adams) 
Bayliss, Sir Wyke, 213, 250, 268. 
Beardsley, A., 12. 

The Wagnerites, 12 
Beam, Comtessede, in. 
Beaumont, Sir George, 182, 184. 
Beaumont, Lady, 182, 184. 
Beaux, Cecilia, 39. 
Becquet, 90, 91. 
Beefsteak Club, 183. 
Beerbohm, Max, 16. 
Beerbohm-Tree, Sir H., 197. 
Bell, Edward, 261, 280, 281. 
Bell, Mrs. Arthur, 258-260, 280, 281. 
Bell, Sir Hugh, 309. 
Belleroche, Albert, 16. 
Belloc, Mr. Hilaire, 76. 
Belloc, Mrs. Hilaire, 76. 
B6n£dite, L£once, 83, 84, 205, 206, 230, 

Benham, Captain, 181, 182. 
Benjamin-Constant, 49. 
Berenson, B., 47. 
Bernhardt, Sarah, 91. 
Beurdeley, M., n. 
Biarritz, 162. 
Bibi, Lalouette, 85. 
Bibi, Valentin, 91, 93. 
Billingsgate, 186. 
Bismarck, Count, 57,261. 
Blaikie, Walter B., 173, 176, 178, I96. 
Blake, William, 251. 

Life of, 71 
Blanche, M. Jacques., 14, 84, 151, 309. 
Blenheim, 10. 
Blue Girl, The, 134 



Blue Wave, The, 10, 162. 

Boat Race Day, Hammersmith Bridge, 

Greaves', 143. 
Bodington and Alexander, 243. 
Boehm, Sir E. I., 185, 308. 

Statue in the Chelsea Embankment, 
Gardens, 178. 
BoldiniJ., 17,18,39,263. 
Bone, Muirhead, 56. 
Bonheur, Rosa, 37. 
Borie, Mrs. Adolphe, 212. 
Boston Library, 34, 142, 
Botticelli's, Spring, 299} 
Boughton, George, 196, 213. 
Bowdoin, W. G., 220. 
Brinton, Dr. Christian, 140, 145. 
British Museum, 66, 74. 
Brock, Mr. Clutton, 142, 145. 
Bronson, Mr. & Mrs., 165. 
Brooklyn Museum, 134 
Brown and Gold, 199. 
Brown, Ernest G., 2,65-67, 133, 171-172, 

173,180, 184, 186, 188, 227, 265, 295,309. 
Brown, Prof. Fred, 202, 268, 3 14. 
Brown, Ford Madox, 170. 
Brown, Oliver, 1 14. 
Bruckman, W. L., 233. 
Buller, General, 54, 154, 240. 
Burlington Magazine, The, 296 
Burne-Jones, Sir E., 27, 62, 63, 205, 300, 

Burns, Robert, 177. 
Burrell,Mr., 184. 
Butt, Major, 226. 

Campbell, Lady Archibald, 166, 309. 

Campbell, Lady Colin, 55, 166. 

Canfield, Richard A., 209, 235, 242, 243, 

270, 271, 273, 275, 281, 285, 286, 309. 

collection, 180. 
Canichon, 86. 
Caran D'Ache, 38, 193. 
Carfax Gallery, 183. 

Carlyle, Thomas, 104, 116, 118, 119, 174, 

Portrait of, 10,29, 129,136,137,178, 
Carmen, 152, 172, 244, 257, 258. 
Carmen (See La Napolitaine), 73. 
Carmen, Atelier, 228. 
Carolus Duran, 71, 72. 
Cauldwell, John B., 199, 201, 203-205. 
Cavour, 37, 134 
Caxton Club, 145-149. 


Cassatt, Miss Mary, 167. 

Cassatt, Mrs., 134. 

Cellini, Benvenuto, 319. 

Centenary Exhibition of Lithography, 20. 

Century, The, 4, 57, 85, 293, 296. 

Chambers, Miss Alice, 59, 6j, 68, 130. 

165, 166. 
Champ-de-Mars Salon, 6, 155. 
Chase, Wm. M., 8, 71, 112, 141, 195, 196, 

226, 239, 240, 308. 
Chefdeville, Louis, 220. 
Chelsea Arts Club, 21,114,213. 
Chetwynd, Sir George, 193. 
Child, Theodore, 109. 
Christie's, 66, 168, 185. 
Claghorn, James, L., 2. 
Clark, Sir Charles Purdon, 4. 
Clark, Irving, 31-33. 
Claude Lorraine, 248. 
Claus, Emil, 6. 
Cole, Alan S., 108, 109, 112, 129, 139, 

Cole, Mrs. Alan S., 30, 103, 108, 133. 
Cole, Sir Henry, 202, 318. 

Portrait of, 134. 
Cole, Timothy, 17, 51, 53, 247, 248, 309. 
Collins, General Arthur, 193. 
Colnaghi, Messrs. D. and P., 309. 

Bernard Oswald, 321. 
Colvin, Sir Sidney, 64. 
Company of the Butterfly, 15. 
Connie Gilchrist Skipping — The Gold Girl. 

183, 260, 271. 
Conway, Sir W. Martin, 309. 
Cook, Sir Theodore Andrea, 177, 224, 

226, 321. 
Cooper, Mr. Colin Campbell, 256. 
Cooper, Mrs. C. C, 256. 
Copp6e, Professor, 240. 
Corder, Rosa, 59-61, 70, 301. 

Portrait of, 126, 276, 278-280. 
Cormon, L., 35. 

Cottier Galleries, New York, 139. 
Courbet, G., 79, 90, 92, 94, 162. 
Cowan, J. J., 82, 309. 
Cox, Kenyon, 66, 67, 126. 
Craies, Mrs., 160. 
Crane, Walter, 25,263, 313. 
Crawford Marion, 221. 
Cremorne, 134. 
Cremorne Gardens, 97, 117,140. 

Series, 48. 
Critic, The, 295. 
Crockett, S. R., 177, 179. 


Cundall, Mr., 201. 
Curtis, Mrs., 165, 191. 

Cust, Harry, 9 
Cust, Lionel, 309. 
Custer, General, 57. 
Custer, Mrs., S4, 57- 

Daily Chronicle, The, 15, 170, 198, 200, 
212, 217, 218, 222, 246, 283, 284, 295. 

Daily Mail, The,\^. 

Daily News, The, 3 19. 

Daily Telegraph, The, 30. 

Dannat, W. L., 204, 205. 

Darrach, Doctor, 2. 

Daubigny, C. F., 55. 

Daumier, H., 55. 

Davenport Brothers, 177. 

Davey, Humphrey, 219. 

Davies, Rev. Mr., 1 19. 

Davis, Edmund, 79, 309. 

Davis, Jefferson, 180. • 

Degas, H. G. E., 227. 

Delacroix, E., 80. 

Delannoy , Ernest,43, 44, 49. 

Delatre,A., 81,95. 

Dell, R., 295. 

Denny, Annie, portrait of, 171. 

Derby Day, Frith's, 78. 

Deschamps, L., 85, 106. 

Dewhurst, Wynford, 263, 264, 296. 

De Wet, General, 146,262,263. 

Dickens, Charles, 197, 270. 

Dixon, Miss, 33. 

Dobbin, James C, 181. 

Dobson, Austin, 227, 309. 

Don Baltasar, 1 20. 

Donkin, Sir Bryan, 226. 

Donkin, Lady, 68. 

Dore, G., 263. 

Douglas, Langton, 50. 

Dowdeswell, Messrs., 112, 136, 140, 145, 
188, 309. 

Dowdeswell, Walter, 125, 132, 135-137, 

Doyle, Sir Conan, 9. 
Draughn, Marion, 244. 
Dreyfus Case, The, 76, 249. 
Drouet, C, 11,49,86-96, 129, 162,245. 
Drouot, Hotel, 244. 
Duke of Marlborough, 1 1 . 
Dulac, Mr. and Mrs., 160. 
Dulwich Gallery, 229. 
Du Maurier, G., 266. 

Dunthorne, R., 148, 230, 272, 290, 291, 

293. 3°9- 
Durand-Ruel, 201. 

Duret, Theodore, 11, 33, 55, 85, 90, 91, 
96, in, 164, 165, 227, 248, 261, 
263, 265, 290, 292, 293, 295-297, 
307, 316. 
Portrait of Whistler, 134. 

Duveneck, F., 7. 

East, Alfred, Sir, 143,313. 

Echoes of Whistler, 158. 

Eddy, Arthur J., 146, 240. 

Eden, Sir William, 20, 32, 202. 

Eden, Lady, 228. 

Eden Case, 21. 

Eden, Sale, 34. 

Edwards, Mrs. Edwin, 85, 227. 

Effie Deans, 163, 245, 247. 

Eldon, R., 123. 

El well, Mr., 77, 167, 169, 173, 177, 179. 

Emilia in England, 25. 

Ernest G. Brown and Phillips, Messrs., 


Etchers and Etching, 147. 
Etty's studio, 219. 

Fagan, Mr. Louis, 74, 77. 
Fagan, Mrs. Louis, 77. 
Falling Rocket, The, 4. 
Fantin-Latour, 83-86, 192. 
Fantin, Madame, 84, 85. 
Farquhar, Mrs. (Miss Peck), 155. 
Faustine, 26. 
Fernald, C. B., 31. 

Cat and the Cherub, The, 26. 
Ferris, Gerome2. 
Ferris, Stephen, J., 2. 
Fine Art Society, 1 72, 1 86- 1 88, 265, 268 

Venice show at, 182. 
Finette, 91. 

Fireworks at Fauxha.ll. 5. 
Fisher, Mark, 213. 
Fisher, W. J., 284, 292. 
Flagg, James Montgomery, 135. 
Floury, H., 264. 

Flower, Cyril (see Battersea, Lord), 109. 
Forain, I.L, 153. 
Ford, I.N. ,273. 
Ford, Paul Leicester, 193. 
Ford, Sheridan, 214, 216, 219. 
Fors Clavigera, 3 17-319, 321, 322. 
Fortnightly Review, The, 24, 267. 
Fraley, Mr. J. C.,245. 



Fraley, Mrs. J. C, 245. 
Frankland, Mrs., 270. 
Franklin, Maud, (see Maud). 
Freer, Charles L., 46, 112, 113, 134, 146, 
156, 241, 242, 246, 258-260, 
292, 294, 297, 307, 309. 

Collection, 161. 

Gallery, Washington, 244. 
French Cathedrals, The, 12. 
Freshfield, Douglas, 70. 
French Set, The, 49, 104. 
Frith, W. L., 77, 78, 121, 169, 149. 
Frick, H.C., 99, 113,271,310. 
Fumette, 86, 90. 
Fur Jacket, The, 4, 163, 184. 
Furnival, Doctor, F. J., 26. 
Furse, Charles, 9. 

Gabriel, Dante, 326. 

Galsworthy, John, 150, 316. 

Galsworthy, Mr. S., 151. 

Garlant's Hotel, 17. 

Garrick Club, 24. 

Gassoway, Francis,(See Howard, Francis) 

275- . 
Gavarni, 87. 

Gazette des Beaux-Arts, 83. 
Gay, Walter, 228. 
Gentle Art of Making Enemies, The, 36, 

183, 212, 216, 219, 250, 265, 306. 
Gibson, Charles Dana, 135. 
Gilbert, Alfred, 275. 
Gilchrist, Mrs. Alexander, 71. 
Gilchrist, Herbert H., 71. 
Gilder, Joseph, 276. 
Ginsberg, Doctor, 158. 
Giotto, 299. 

Glasgow University, 275. 
Gleyre's studio, 90, 172. 
Globe, The, 200, 203, 205, 206. 
Godwin, Mrs., E. W., later Mrs. J. McN. 

Whistler, 119, 166, 167. 
Godwin, E. W., 106, 157, 166, 252, 302, 

Godwin, E. 19, 21, 217, 296 
Gold Scab, The, 113, 326. 
Goncourts, the de, 82. 
Goodyear, W. H. 105. 
Gosse, Edmund, 27, 192,230, 295, 309, 

Goulding, Charles, 149. 
Goulding, Frederick, 80,121, 122, 148, 149. 
Goupil Gallery, 10,81, 136, 143,284. 
Grand, Madame Sarah, 190. 


Grand Palais des Beaux-Arts, 73. 

Graphic, The, 199, 200-203, 205. 

Grasshopper, The, 119. 

Gravesande, Storm Vans', 112, 309. 

Graves, Messrs. H., 60, 266. 

Gray, W. E., 50, 105. 

Greaves, Miss Alice, 136. 

Greaves, Miss Tinnie, 97, 118, 119, 13 1, 

Greaves, Mrs., 123. 

Greaves, Walter and Harry, 98, 106, 
1 14-145, 161-163, 166, 179. 
portraits, 3,141, 184. 
Greiffenhagen, Maurice, 190, 191, 275. 
Greiffenhagen, Mrs. M., 190, 191. 
Grimaldi, 74, 147. 
Grimthorpe, Lord, 307, 309. 
Grolier Catalogue, 147, 242. 
Grosvenor Gallery, 215, 325, 326. 
Grover, Oliver D., 164. 
Guthrie, Sir James, 14, 47, 150, 151, 263, 

275, 283, 297, 309. 

Hague, The, 245, 247, 249, 259. 

Haden, Arthur, 212. 

Haden, Lady, 78, 129,253,254. 

Haden, Sir Seymour, 2, 15, 43, 45, 79, 80, 

Halkett, G. R., 143, 198-200. 

Halliday, Miss, 33. 

Hamilton, J. McLure, 82, 143, 156, 214, 
215, 217-219, 277, 296. 

Hamilton, Mrs. J. McLure, 143. 

Hammond, Mr. & Mrs., 212. 

Hardy, Thomas, 309. 

Harmony in Blue -Gray, Greaves', 144. 

Harmony in White and Gray, by Harry 
Greaves, 144. 

Harper Brothers, Messrs., 158, 194. 

Harris, Frank, 16. 

Harrison, Alexander, 72, 309. 

Hartley, Harold, 206, 281, 282, 307. 

Hatrick, A. S., 28, 139, 295. 

Haweis, Rev. Mr., 320 

Hawthorne, Julian, 250. 

Hecker, Colonel, 82. 

Heffernan, Joanna (See Mrs. Abbott 
and Jo). 

Heffernan, Patrick, 161. 

Heinemann,William, 1,15,16,27, 32, 34, 38, 
41, 45, 50, 53, 105, no, 133, 139, 142, 
145, 147, 190, I97-I99> 204, 209, 210, 
213, 216, 218, 220, 230, 237, 249, 259- 
261, 264-266, 294-296, 306, 307, 308. 


Heinemann, Mrs. William, 32, 38, 39, 
45, 204, 209, 210, 220, 265, 276, 296. 

Henley, W. E., 15, 34, 177, 291, 292. 

Hensman, Misses, 189, 198, 23 1. 

Herbert, J., 159. 

Herkomer, Sir Hubert von, 8. 

Hervier, A., 55. 

Heseltine, J. P., 309. 

Hewlett, Maurice, 283, 309. 

Hewlett, Mrs. Maurice, 76. 

Hogarth, 227. 

Shrimp Girl, 257. 

Hogarth Club, 9, 106, 214. 

Holme, Charles, 295. 

Holmes, G. A., 6, 1 19. 

Holroyd, Sir Charles, 309. 

Hommage d. Delacroix, 80. 

Home, Herbert, 45, 46. 

Horniman, E. J., 307. 

Hotel du Bon Lafontaine, II. 

Howard, Francis (Francis Gassoway, 
Francis O'Connor, 275). 

Howard, George [Lord Carlisle], 59. 

Howell, Charles Augustus, 58-70, 107, 
117, 121, 130, 133, 134, 164, 169, 170. 

Hubbard, Elbert, 274. 

Hubbell, Captain, 113. 

Huish, Marcus B., 188. 

Hullah,Miss, 160. 

Hunt, W. Holman, 26, 46, 169. 

Hunter, Captain Charles H., 74-77. 

Hunter, Mrs. Charles H., 74-77 

Hunter, Mrs. Charles, 236. 

Huth, Mrs. Louis, 102. 

Hutton, Mrs., 119, 122. 

Idyl, An, 8. 

International Art Notes, 203. 
International Society of Sculptors, Paint- 
ers and Gravers, 14, 145, 151, 305, 
306, 307. _ 
Dinner held in Cafe Royal, 283 . 
Exhibitions, 2, 118, 137, 140, 145, 
162. (See Memorial Exhibition.) 
International Exposition in Paris, (See 

In the Studio. 161, 300. 
Ionides, Luke, 27, 83, 112, 132, 277. 

Constantine, 27. 
Irish National Gallery, 39. 
Irlandaises Les, Courbet's 162. 
Irving, Sir Henry, 141. 
Etching of, 271. 
Portrait of, 184. 

Israels, Josef, 309. 
Ives, Halsey C, 277. 

Jackson, Ernest G., 178. 

Jacomb-Hood, G. P., 1 13. 

Jameson, Frederick, 6. 

James, Francis, 314. 

James, G. P. R., 140. 

James, Henry, 309, 315. 

Janvier, Thomas A., 50, 51, 200, 220. 

Janvier, Mrs. Thomas A., 50, 51, 200, 220. 

Jekyll, 102, no. 

Jenner, Mr. & Mrs., 68. 

Jerome, District Attorney, in New York, 

Jessop, W. H., 309. 
Jessop Collection, 189. 
Jo (Joanna Heffernan, Mrs. Abbott), 

69, 118, 161-163,254. 
Johnson, Robert Underwood, 18,99, I 35- 
Jones, Mrs. Cadwalader, 155. 
Jones, Gussie, 161. 
Jopling-Rowe, Mrs., 167. 
Journal , Le, 193. 

Kauffmann, Angelica, 93. 

Keene, Charles, 320. 

Kendall, M., 160. 

Kennedy & Co., Messrs., 17. 

Kennedy, E. G., 2, 17, 31, 39, 41, 50, 51, 

58, 73,74, 77, 96, 97, H7, 209-212, 242, 

Keppel, David, 148. 
Keppel, Frederick, 2, 80, 81, 85, 86, 90, 

96, I45-H7, H9- 
Keppel, Messrs. Frederick & Co., 148. 
Kerr-Lawson, J., 45, 46, 47, 140, 178, 

Kerr-Lawson, Mrs. J., 293. 
Kerr, Dr. Norman, 226. 
Kerr, Lord Ralph, 219. 
Kinsella, Miss, 297. 
Kipling, Rudyard, 309. 
Knoedler, Messrs., 161,286. 
Konody, P. G, 138, 145. 
Kruger, President, 204. 
Kruger, Mrs., 54. 
Kyllman, O., 22. 

Labouchere, Henry, 181-183. 

Lady Elcho, Mrs. Adeane and Mrs.Ten- 

nant, Sargent's, 39. 
Lady Meux, 10. 



Lady Standing at a Spinet, Ochtervelt's, 

La Farge, John, 155, 156. 
Lalouette, 86,93. 
Lambert, John, 71, 72, 87. 
Landor, A. H., Savage, 209-21 1. 
Landseer, Sir Edwin, 172. 
Lane, Sir Hugh, 70, 138. 
Lane, Mrs. John, 28. 
Lange Leizen, 135, 300. 
Lannion, 56. 

Lanteri, Prof. E., 83, 235, 275. 
LaurencoMarquez, 180. 
Laus Veneris, 28. 
Lavenue's, 221. 
Lavery, Sir John, 14, 21, 46, 47, 73, 84, 

150, 152, 179, 194, 195, 200, 201, 217, 

218, 258, 263, 270, 273-275, 283, 286, 

288, 292, 294, 295, 297, 307, 309, 312. 
Le Brun, Madame Vigee, 37. 
Lee, Gerald ,62. 
Lee, Mrs. Gerald, 62. 
Lee, Mr. Stirling, 307. 
Legros, A., 79, 80, 84, 89, 161. 
Leicester Galleries, 65. 
Leighton, Sir Frederick, 122, 320. 
Leland, Charles Godfrey, 3. 
Lepere, A., 309. 
Le Sidaner, H., 284. 
Leslie, G. D., 213, 326. 
Lewis and Allenby, 197. 
Lewis, Sir George, 34, 216. 
Leyland, Florence, 105. 
Leyland, Frederick R., 54, 67,98-113,122, 

I33.I34, 3°2,326- 
Leyland, Mrs. Frederick R., 54, 97-113, 
Portrait of, 120, 134. 
Liberty, Lazenby, 64. 
Liddell, Dean, 323. 
Lillie in Our Alley, 77. 
Lindsey Row, houses in, 48, 49, 59, 101, 

102, 104, 108, 116, 117, 121, 124, 130, 

Linton, Sir James, 15. 
Lithography and Lithographers, ill, 147. 
Little Cardinal, The, 264. 
Little Johannes, 306. 
Little Lady Sophie, 77, 281. 
Little Rose of Lyme Regis, 287. 
Little White Girl, The, 48, 49, 78, 126, 161, 

Lobsters, The Loves of the, 134 
Loeser, C, 47. 


London Garland, A, 15, 73. 

Long Bridge, The, 251. 

Lord Donoughmore, 20. 

Louvre, the, 48, 64, 85, 89, 90, 93, 94, 169, 

171, 247. 
Lowrie, Mrs., 272. 
Lucas, George A., 55, 56, 85, 87, 154, 164, 

Ludovici, A., 40, 275. 
Lungren, Fernand, 54, 57, 58, 217-219. 
Lungren, Mrs. Fernand, 54, 57,58, 217-219. 
Luxembourg, the, 84, 205, 230. 
Lyme Regis, 56. 

MacColl, D. S., 9, 13, 191, 192, 225, 236, 

Mac Ewen, Walter, 197. 
MacKay, A., 172, 230. 
Maclaren, Ian, 179. 
MacLaughlan, D. S., 159-161. 
MacLaughlan, Mrs. D. S., 160. 
MacManus, Blanche, 220. 
Macmillan, Mrs. Maurice, 58. 
MacMonnies, Frederick, 309. 
MacMonnies, Mrs., 262. 
Macquoid, Percy, 269. 
Magazine of Art, The, 198-200. 
Burlington, The, 2Q6. 
Mallarme, St^phane, 11. 

Vers et Prose, II. 
Manet, E., 78, 192, 201, 217, 267, 296. 
Mansfield, Howard, 2, 81, 112, 147, 309. 
Mansfield, Mrs. H., 220. 
Marchant, William, 133, 136, 137, 140, 

gallery, 138. 
Marchesi, Madame, 227. 
Marks, Murray, 109, no, 302, 326. 
Martin, Dr. Benjamin Ellis, 4. 
Martin, Mrs. Bradley, 19, 20. 
Martin, Henri, 88, 92. 
Martin, Homer, 229, 230, 233. 
Martin, J., 117. 
Martineau, Harriet, 318. 
Matin, Le, 296. 
Maud (Maud Franklin), 69, 102, 105, 

118, 119, 163,164,166,254. 
Maxse, Admiral, 196, 217. 
Mazzini, 174. 
McCarter, Henry, 156. 
McCarthy, Justin, 225. 
McCullock, George, 46, 113. 
Mcllvaine, Clarence B., 158. 
McNeill, Miss, Eliza, 104, 182. 


McQueen, W., 48. 
Melchers, Gari, 309. 
Melville, Arthur, 215. 
Memorial Exhibition in London, Whistler, 
1905, 113, 122, 145. 
in Paris, 1905 84. 
Meninas, Las, 5, 225. 
Menpes, Mortimer, 5, 63, 65, 66, 115, 141, 

180, 225, 241, 250, 260, 288, 296. 
Mere Gerard, La, 78, 80, 93. 
Meredith,George, 24, 25, 170, 262, 263,3 16. 
Meredith, Owen, 227. 
Merritt, Mrs. Anna Lea, 3. 
Meryon, C, 267. 
Metropolitan Museum, 4, 183. 
Metsu, 39. 
Meyer, G., 148. 
Meunier, Constantin, 6, 7. 
Michael, Angelo, 26,41,64,171,175. 
Michie, Coutts, 113. 
Milcendeau, Charles, 153. 
Miles, Frank, 119. 

Millais, Sir J. E., 22, 23, 25, 29, 64, 129, 
Life oj, 26. 
Millais, Lady, 25. 
Millet, Jean-Francois, 72,73. 
Milner, Sir Frederick, 54. 
Mirbeau, Octave, 267, 268. 
Miss Alexander, Portrait of Miss Cicely 

H. (Mrs. Spring-Rice), 10, 69, 73, 116, 

Mitchell, Dr. Chalmers, 39, 197, 223, 

224, 296. 
Mitchell, Mrs. Chalmers, 38, 39, 197, 

223, 224. 
Moncrieff, Mrs. Lynedoch, 227. 
Monna Lisa, 167. 
Montesquio, Comte Robert de, 270. 

Portrait of, 270, 271. 
Moore, Albert, 123, 141, 229, 233, 320. 
Moore, George, 9, 10, 241, 285. 
Moran, Peter, 2. 
Moreau Nelaton Collection, 80. 
Morgan, J. P., 99. 
Morgan, William De, 178. 
Morley, John, 24. 

Morning Post, The, 109, 138, 227, 247. 
Morris, Harrison S., 25, 156, 239, 247, 308. 
Morris, Mrs. Harrison S., 170, 239. 
Morris, Phil, 103, 104, 123, 213. 
Morris, William, 27, 251, 299, 300, 301, 

303, 3°5- 
Morris, Mrs. William, 62. 

Morse, Sidney, 34. 

Moscheles, Felix, 70, 151. 

Mother, The, 3, 66, 73, 84, 116, 120, 121, 

123, 169,174,184,301, 325. 
Moulton, Fletcher, 62. 
Mount Ararat, 113, 134. 
Muller, Iwan, 30, 31. 
Mura, Frank, 70, 71. 
Mura, Mrs. Frank, 70. 
Murray, C, Fairfax, 66. 
Music Room, The, 10, 129. 
Musset, Alfred de, 86. 

Napolitaine, La, 243. 

National Academy of Design, 52, 156. 

National Collection, Washington, 82, 


National Gallery, 14, 17, 41,48,49, 78, 

National Liberal Club, 158. 
National, Observer, The, 8,9. 
National Portrait Gallery, 184. 
Nation, The, 275. 
Nesmith, Joseph A., 308, 316. 
Nevill, Lady Dorothy, 184. 
Nevinson, H. W., 170. 
New, Edmund A., 314. 
New English Art Club, 9, 20, 192, 268. 
New York Herald, The, 246. 

Paris Edition, 228. 
New York Sun, The, 275. 
New York Times Saturday Review, The, 2$o. 
Nicholson, William, 138, 309. 
Norton, Charles Eliot, 321. 
Northcliffe.Lord, 138. 
Nocturnes, Marines and Chevalet Pieces, 10. 
Nocturne in Blue and Gold, Whistler's, 321. 
Note Blanche, 161. 
Notes, Harmonies, Nocturnes, 5. 

Ocns,Mrs., 197, 309. 
O'Connor, Francis (see Howard). 
Ohl, Mrs., 57, 58, 73, 77. 
Old Batter sea Bridge, 10, 138. 
Olivarez, Velasquez, 120. 
Once a Week, 306. 
Orpen, Sir William, 138, 312. 
Oulevey, M., 83, 86-90, 93-95. 
Owl and the Cabinet, The, 34. 
Oxon, J. R., 327. 

Paddon, S. Wreford, 61. 
P addon Papers, The, 64, 295. 
Paimpol, 56. 



Pall Mall Gazette, The, 6, 9, 30, 134, 143, 

Palmer, Mrs. Potter, 16, 57, 125, 127, 155, 

309, .3 16. 
Panizzi, 74. 
Paris International Exposition of 1900, 40, 

190, 192, 199, 200, 217. 
Parry, Judge E. T., 316, 321. 
Passing Under Battersea Bridge, Greaves', 

137, 138, 144- 
Paulus,Herr, 150. 
Pawling, Sydney S., 276. 
Peacock Room, the, 98, 100, 103, 105- 
Portrait, 302, 320, 326. 
Pellegrini, C., 163. 

Portrait of Whistler, 237. 
Penn, William, 258. 
Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, 

Pepys, Samuel, 219. 
Petit, Georges, III. 
Philip, R. Birnie, 207,296. 
Philip, Mrs. Birnie, 153, 220, 231, 234, 

241,242, 255. 
Philip, Ethel Birnie (see Whibley, Mrs. 

Philip, Rosalind Birnie, 40, 45, 50, 51,67, 

77, 134, 148, 149, 153, 158, 166, 191, 

194, 195, 220, 223, 234, 235, 237, 245, 

246, 255-263, 266, 269, 270, 272, 276, 

277, 281,286-293,295, 296. 
Phillip, John, 79, 82. 
Phillips, Sir Claude, 10, 264, 265. 
Philosopher, The, III. 
Phryne, 217,243. 

Piano Picture, The, 78, 79, 82, 95, 285. 
Piero della Francesca, 299. 
Plymouth, Lord, 307. 
Plunkett, Count, 309. 
Poore, Harry R., 2. 
Pope, A. Atmore,i30. 
Portfolio, The, 186. 
Pourville, 56. 

Poynter, Sir Edward, 49, 50. 
Pre-Raphaelites, The, 22, 26, 27. 
Pretty Nellie Brown, 173. 
Prinsep, Mrs. Val, 105. 

Portrait of, by ValPrinsep, 103. 
Prince, Charles, 52, 53. 
Princesse du Pays de la Porcelaine, La, 

101, 126, 132, 300. 
Princess Louise, 121, 185. 


Propositions, 36, 296. 
Prothero, Mrs., 199. 
Pulitzer, Mr., 225,226. 
Puvis, de Chavannes, 299. 
Pyle, Howard, 314. 

Quilter, Harry, 303. 

Rackham, Arthur, 309. 
Radford, Ernest, 193,194. 
Radford, Sir George, 216. 
Raffaelli.T. F., 267,268, 309. 
Rawlinsons, W. J., 129,267,268. 
Redesdale, Lord, 64, 108, 129, 133, 255, 

309, 310. 
Redesdale, Lady, 128, 309. 
Reid, Alexander, 4. 
Reid, Whitelaw, 309. 
Reinhardt, Messrs., 133, 136. 
Rembrandt, 3, 81, 96, 167, 187, 245. 
Repplier, Agnes, 185. 
Reynolds, 156. 

Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 266, 276. 
Rhodes, Harrison, 211, 234, 235. 
Ribot,T., 201. 
Ricci, C, 46. 
Ricketts, Charles, 275. 
Richmond, Sir William,B., 225, 326. 
Rijks Museum, 247. 
Rinder, Frank, 262, 269. 
Ringler& Co., Messrs., 147- 
Roberts, Lord, 54. 
Robertson, Graham, 277, 279, 280. 
Robins, Elizabeth, 223, 224, 306. 
Robins, Helen, 211. 
Robinson and Fisher's, 69, 70, 143. 
Rodd, Sir Rennell, 309. 
Rodin, A., 48, 201, 213, 235-237, 242, 283, 
307-309, 3 1 1-3 16. 
Balzac, 201. 
Burghers of Calais, 23. 
Whistler Memorial, 307-316.- 
Rose, Anderson, 65, 317, 319, 320, 326. 
Rosenbach Company, The, 141. 
Ross, Mrs. Janet, 47. 
Ross, Robert, 63, 64, 133, 138- 139, 143, 

183, 316. 
Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, 7, 23-27, 34, 58, 

62-64, 79, 84, 101, 104, no, 119, 129, 

157, 170, 171, 252, 272, 273, 295, 300, 


Rossetti, William Michael, 83, 84, 296, 

316, 320, 326. 
Rothenstein, William, 16, 143, 202. 


Roullier, Albert, 145-147,230. 

Rousseau, M., 219. 

Roussel, Theodore, 216, 231. 

Rowe, Mrs. Jopling, 167. 

Royal Academy, 22, 39, 49, 50, 151, 194- 

Royal Historical Society, 158. 
Roycrof t Press, 274. 
Ruskin, John, 7, 8, 25, 68, 103, 214, 248, 

Ruskin, Mrs. ,25. 
Ruskin Case, The, 6o,"i64, 212, 213,233, 

Russell, R. H.,146. 
Russian Schube, The, 14. 

Sage, Miss, 279. 
St. Anne's, Soho, 72. 
St.Gaudens, A.,156, 174, 308. 
St- Helier, Lady, 309. 
St. James's, The, 216. 
St. Louis Exposition, 277. 
Salaman, Malcolm, 248, 249. 
Sala, G. A., 10. 
Salting, George, 314. 
Sandra Belloni, 25, 26. 
Sandys Frederick, 21-23, 170. 

The Nightmare, 22. 
Sarasate, 4. 
Sargent, John S., 34, 35, 39, 46, 143, 154, 

168, 213, 236-238, 251, 262, 263, 277, 

281 309. 
Sassoferato, 62. 

Saturday Review , The,g, 14, 192. 
Sauter, George, 14, 150, 151, 160, 206, 

207, 210, 222, 233, 237, 239, 247, 256, 

263, 273-276, 291, 295, 297, 307, 

Sauter, Mrs. George, 151, 160, 180, 233, 

291, 295. 
SavileClub, 11,230. 
Scammon Lectures, 155. 
Scheffer, Ary, 122. 
Scots Observer, The, 8. 
Second Venice Set, The, 66. 
Selsey Bill, 61, 134. 
Selsey Bill Sands, 65. 
Seton, Miss, 257, 286. 
Seule 'The Coast of Brittany; Alone with 

the Tide), 156. 
Shannon, J. J., 151, 152, 201, 213, 275, 

Shaw, George Bernard, 9, 309. 
Shaw, Mrs. Graham, 33. 


Shaw, Norman, 226. 

Shadow of the Cross, The, Holman Hunt's, 

Short, Sir Frank, 78, 80, 81, 207. 
Shorter, C. K., 16, 314. 
Sickert, Oswald, 259, 260. 
Sickert, Walter, 9, 14, 67, 81, 143, 

Sickert, Mrs. Walter, 161, 166. 
Simpson, Mrs., 237. 
Sir Isumbras at the Ford, Millais', 22. 
Six Projects, The, 126, 161. 
Smalley, George W., 84. 
Smith, G. L.,23, 318. 
Society of American Artists, 156. 
Society of Illustrators, 15. 
Sotheby's, 189. 
Soupe d Trois Sous, 92. 
South Kensington Exhibitions, 20, 22, 

137, 144- 
South Kensington Museum, 175. 
Spartali, Miss, 126. 
Speaker, The, 9. 
Spectator, The, 9. 
SpekeHall, 54. 

Spencer, Mr., 125, 127-129, 133, 136. 
Spielmann, M. H., 198-200, 202, 203,206, 

Spreckles,Mrs., 113. 
Spy and Ape, 141, 184. 
Standard, The, 264, 265, 269. 
Stansfield, James, 124, 219. 
Star, The, 9, 54, 77, 142, 146, 186, 271, 

Steer, P. Wilson, 21, 46, 202. 
Steevens, George W., 9. 
Stephens, F. G., 10. 
Stevens, Mr., 113. 
Stevenson, R. A. M., (Bob), 9, 10. 
Stevenson, Robert Louis, 34, 177, 282. 
Stevenson, Macaulay, 288. 
Stillman, Mrs. W. J., 99, 106. 
Stott, William, 166,288. 
Strang, David, 296. 
Strang, William, 296. 
Strange, E.F., 138, 203,257. 
Streatham Town Hall, 118. 
Strindberg, Madame Frida, 133, 135. 
Stuart, Gilbert, 135. 
Studd, Arthur, 43, 48, 49, 59, 263, 269, 

296, 297. 
Studio, The, 295, 300. 
Sturges, Jonathan, 193, 202, 205. 
Sullivan, E. J., 16, 21, 185, 202, 206, 309. 



Sutherland, Sir Thomas, 106-109, 207, 

229, 232. 
Swan, John, 215. 
Swift, Benjamin, 272. 
Swinburne, A. C., 24, 26, 63, 78, 80, 170, 

247, 252. 
Symons, Arthur, 38, 39. 
Symphonies in White, 120. 
Symphony in White, No. Ill, 161. 

Tate Gallery, 251. 

Taylor, Tom, 117, 326. 

Telegraph, The Daily, 10, 264. 

Ten O'clock, The, 8, 3 1, 199, 302, 305. 

Terborgh, 39. 

Thames in Ice, The, 79, 82, 120. 

Thames Set, The, 2, 104. 

Thaw, Mrs., 135. 

Thaulow, F., 14, 151,153, 309. 

Theobald, K. C, Mr. H. S., 112, 309. 

Thomas, Percy, 165. 

Thompson, Sir Henry, 306. 

Thomson, David Croal, 10, 65, 1 12, 191, 

192, 196, 296, 307, 309. 
Three Girls, The, 134, 233. 
Thynne, Mrs., 129, 296. 
Thynne, Miss, 296. 
Times, The] 10, 48, 137, 139, 141, 142, 

191, 192, 259, 261, 284, 295, 326. 
Tintoretto, 154, 249. 
Titian, 26, 154. 
Tomson, Mrs. Arthur, 130. 
Tonks, Henry, 202. 
Trevelyan, George, 309. 
Tribune, The, 273. 
Tristan and Isolde, 12. 
Troubetzkoi, Prince, 150. 
Truth, 183,184. 
Tuckerman, Miss, 238. 
Turner, J. M. W., 7, 120, 228, 248. 
Tweed, J. ,235. 
Twenty-fifth of December, The, 79. 

Uffizi, The, 45, 47. 

Untermeyer, Mrs., 4. 

Unwin, Mr. T. Fisher, 76, 11 r, 112, 168, 

218, 280, 296. 
Unwin, Mrs., T. Fisher, 168,280. 

Vale, The, 119,165,167. 
Vale of Rest, The, Millais, 70. 
Valparaiso, 41-43,48, 113,253. 
Valparaiso, 134, 279. 


Vanderbilt, George, 193, 202, 237, 297, 

307, 3p9- 

Vanderbilt, Mrs. George, 237, 264. 

Van Dyke, Mr. John C., 30. 

American Painting and Its Tradition, 
31. Modern French Masters, 162. 

Velasquez, 99, 120, 162, 193, 227. 

Venetian Interior, A., Sargent's, 39. 

Venice Sets, The,!, 188. 

Venice show at Fine Art Society, 182. 

Venturi Madame, 124, 174. 

Veronese, 249. 

Victoria and Albert Museum, 203. 

Viele- Griffin, 12. 

Violet and Gold, 120. 

Walker, Martineau & Co., Messrs., 

317. 32 6 - 
Waller, Pickford, 302, 309. 
Wallis, Whitworth, 309. 
Walton, E. A., 206, 275, 279, 286, 309. 
Walton, Mrs. E. A., 272, 279. 
Wanamaker, Mr. 173. 
Wapping, 119, 122, 161. 
Ward, T. Humphry, 10, 82, 192, 281, 

Ward, Mrs. T. Humphry, 230. 
Warr, Mrs., 7c. 
Warwick, Lady, 236. 
Watts-Dunton, Theodore, no, 175, 194, 

Way, Thomas, 106, 133, 134, 148, 294. 
Way, T. R., 66, 81, 105, 106, 115, 133- 

135, 148, 149, 233, 251, 294, 313,3 16. 
Weary, 161. 
Webb, William, 200, 206, 222, 223, 238, 

244, 274, 294, 296, 307. 
Wedmore, Sir Frederick, 10, 146, 264-269, 

Wells, H. G., 309. 
Wertheimer, Asher, Sargent's, 140. 
Westminster Gazette, The, 138. 
West Point, 42, 48, 74-77, 154, 180, 181, 

195, 210-212, 216, 228, 234, 236, 240, 

242, 276. 
West Point Memorial, 242. 
Wales, Prince of, 176. 
Wheeler, General Joe, 240. 
Whibley,Charles, 1, 9, 13, 37, 224, 226, 296. 

Book af Scoundrels, 306. 
Whibley, Mrs. Charles, (Ethel Birnie 

Philip), 37, 200, 245, 262, 284, 291, 

Whirlwind, The, 148. 


Whistler's House at Chelsea, 3. 

Life of, 3, 13, 14, 27, 30, 32, 33, 40, 41, 
45, 55, 65, 68, 83, 100, in, 125, 145, 
158, 160, 165, 167, 182, 184, 188, 214, 
215, 216, 227, 239, 242, 247, 254, 274, 
_ 287, 289, 295, 297. 
Whistler Thomas, 4. 
Whistler, Mrs. Thomas, 163. 
Dr. William, 48, 113, 163. 
Mrs. Dr. William, 10, 31, 55, 74, 
103, 104, 112, 113, 119, 123, 129, 
133, 134, 152, 154, 157, 163, 165, 
166, 189, 247, 251-254, 262, 296, 

Whitefriars Club, 194. 
White, Archer, 224, 225, 226. 
White Girl, The, 4, 80, 134, 144, 157, 161- 

White, Gleason, 26. 
Whitehall Court, 29. 
White House, 65, 133, 164, 186,283. 
Whitman, Mrs. Sarah, 153,154, 185,238. 
Whitman, Walt, 3, 24, 71, 168. 

Leaves of Grass, 24, 26. 
Wilde, Oscar, 3, 1 19, 205, 228. 
Williams, Captain, 171. 

Williamson, Dr. G. C, 64. 
Wills, W. G., 321. 
Wilson, Edgar, 30. 
Wilson, Harry, 33, 34, 294, 307. 
Wilstach Collection, 4. 
Wimbush, W. L., 54. 
Winans, Thomas, 171. 
Wisselingh, E. J. Van, 264. 
Withers, Alfred, 160. 
Withers, Mrs. I. Dods, 160. 
Wolseley, Lord, 121. 
Wood, Butler, 309. 
Wood, Durwent, 312. 
World, The, 183, 184, 319. 
Wren, Sir Christopher, 41. 
Wunderlich, Messrs., 2. 
Wyndham, George, 307. 
Wyndham, Mrs., 103. 

Yates, Edmund, 183. 
Yellow Buskin, The, 4. 

Zaehnsdorf, Messrs., 176. 
Zola, E., 296. 
Zug, George B., 73.